


Sixteen Days - Greg's Story

by Tailkinker



Series: CollarVerse [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Caging, CollarVerse, Humiliation, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tailkinker/pseuds/Tailkinker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has been purchased by Lisa Cuddy to operate a Diagnostics Department at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. This is the story of the first sixteen days of his new life as a slave of the hospital. Fresh out of a slave processing unit he finds it difficult to adjust to his new role. </p><p>Written in parallel with Sixteen Days by Oflymonddreams which tells the story from the POV of the other characters (Cuddy and other hospital staff). </p><p>This story follows on from the earlier story Seven Stages and that story should be read first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Greg's point of view of his first sixteen days as a slave at PPTH, it runs in parallel with Oflymonndreams [Sixteen Days](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7052946/1/Sixteen-Days). This story follows on directly from Seven Stages which tells the story of how Greg became a slave and should be read first. 
> 
> If you've read that story and the rest of the Collarverse stories you shouldn't need any warnings:) This is a dark universe with dark themes, there is noncon, physical, emotional and mental abuse, slave situations etc etc. 
> 
> Thanks to illumin for a beta read of both versions of the story and thanks as always to Oflymonddreams for creating this universe and letting me play in it as well :)

**DAY ZERO - Thursday**

They've only been in the van a short while when it comes to a halt. Greg looks out the little window and sees that they are at an airport, parked outside departures. Doctor Cuddy says a few words to the guard sitting in the front of the van and gets out, walking into the airport without a backwards look. Greg is puzzled, he thought that Cuddy must work for PPTH and had bought him, but now she has left him with the two guards and they are driving off. Maybe she was just buying him on behalf of someone else. He has no way of knowing, he can't ask the guard because slaves don't speak unless they are spoken to. Maybe PPTH doesn't mean what he thinks it does, maybe he's headed for another training facility. He feels utterly helpless, he has absolutely no control over where he goes and what he does. He thought getting out of the Center would be freedom but now realizes that there is no freedom for him, no safety.

He stares out the window at the free world, and is looking at a large plane coming in to land when the guard in the back with him speaks up.

"What's the matter, boy? Haven't you ever seen an airplane before?"

He immediately lowers his eyes to the floor. His father was a fighter pilot and he grew up on bases around the world and has sat in the cockpit of many different jets, but he can't say that.

"Well, boy? I asked you a question," the guard snaps, his hand going to the baton on his hip.

"Yes sir, I've seen an airplane before," he answers, his voice hoarse from disuse, he's barely said a handful of words in the last few weeks.

"Then keep your eyes where they belong and stop staring out the window like a Goddamn tourist."

"Yes sir, this slave is sorry, sir."

The guard just grunts and goes back to the newspaper he is reading.

Greg kneels in the cage and looks at the floor.

They drive for a long time and don't stop for a break. It's been hours since Greg was last taken to the bathroom and he feels a desperate need to urinate. At the Center the slaves are regularly taken in groups to the toilet, the male slaves lined up at a long urinal in the open air, they are not permitted to go at other times. There are squat toilets they use for their other business, and they must use those when ordered. Any failure to use the squat toilet at an appropriate time is met with a forced enema. The slaves quickly learn to adapt to this routine.

Greg isn't sure what to do. He's not allowed to speak unless spoken to and although he shifts around a bit in his cage, trying to get the guard's attention, the guard keeps reading his paper and ignores him. He's terrified that this is another test and if he breaks silence he will have failed it.

He tries to hold on but to his shame he feels a small trickle of urine escape him and wet his jeans. He glances up quickly but the guard hasn't noticed. He bites down on his lip and concentrates on stopping any further release.

Shortly after that they pull off the main road and the van is driven around to the back entrance of a large building. Greg has been staring at the floor of his cage as ordered so he doesn't know what building it is, whether it is PPTH or not.

The guard opens the door to his cage and both guards lean by the back door of the van, chatting to each other. They don't talk to him and they don't tell him to get out of the cage so he huddles there, feeling miserable.

An older lady appears, talking sharply to the guards and telling them to get him out of the cage. They haul him out, and he knows that they can all see that he was wet himself. He stares at the ground as the woman tells the guards off for not giving him a bathroom break. They are talking about him as if he's not there and can't understand them. The woman asks the guard his name and when the guard says 'Greg' he jerks his head to look at him before immediately dropping his gaze to the ground again.

He feels a pull on his collar as the woman clips a leash onto it and gives its a small tug, jerking his head up.

"Greg, you will not piss your pants again. This is a hospital, not a farm. If you need something like that you ask permission to talk and then ask for it. No-one will punish you for talking if you are respectful."

"Yes ma'am," he says when she pauses, apparently expecting an answer. His mind latches on to the word 'hospital', he is hopeful now.

"Come, Greg."

He follows behind her obediently, walking on the leash as he has been taught, head down respectfully. He steals little glances as they walk along. They are in what looks to be a loading bay and there are boxes of supplies lying around, this must be the goods entrance to the building. The boxes are labeled and he realizes that he is indeed in Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. He is being brought through the loading bay, just like any other purchase of the hospital.

He is relieved. Even if Doctor Cuddy won't be here at least he's in a hospital. It was a long drive from the Center, several hours at least, so it is likely that he won't meet any of his former colleagues here. He despised most of them anyway but he still wouldn't want them to see Greg, the slave.

They walk down a hallway and down a few steps to a lower level, finally entering a small room which has an examination table set up, with manacles hanging off the side.

The lady unclips his leash and says her name is Mrs Foster, she is the slave overseer for the hospital.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies and she nods.

She hands him two sample jars,

"You can use that bathroom," she says, pointing to a door in the corner. "I need a urine sample and a stool sample. Do you understand? Pee in one container, shit in the other?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers.

It's not hard to produce the samples, he's been conditioned to do both on cue. The toilet with a door is a luxury, after months of attending to his bodily functions in public. He is as quick as he can be and hands both jars to Mrs Foster.

A male nurse has appeared and Greg strips off his clothing on command. He feels a tug of regret as they come off. He had liked having clothes on again.

He's told to get on the table and he puts his hands out next to the manacles so they can be secured. The nurse glances at Mrs Foster but she shakes her head and they don't restrain him. The nurse takes a blood sample, his gloved hands brisk and impersonal. Then Greg is given another sample jar.

"Semen sample." Mrs Foster instructs him and both she and the nurse stare at him, waiting.

He holds the container in one hand, places his other on his penis and then he hesitates. It isn't that he requires privacy, he's been well taught that he's no longer a person, no longer entitled to what he would have once regarded as basic human rights. He's also been told that his body is no longer his, he isn't supposed to touch himself seeking pleasure. He is torn between following the order and disobeying what he has been taught, his hand begins to shake on his penis.

The nurse doesn't let him hesitate long. He sighs and takes the container back off Greg and reaches for Greg's penis, stroking it until he is brought to a shuddering climax, tears forming in his eyes as the involuntary orgasm rips through him. The semen is collected neatly in the container and the nurse turns to Mrs Foster.

"They get like this sometimes. When they've been taught not to touch themselves. Guess he's a personal slave? Who's he for?"

"Doctor Cuddy bought him." She turns to him, "now, boy, off the table, into the shower, clean yourself up."

He latches onto the words "Doctor Cuddy bought him", so he was right initially, she had purchased him. He wonders briefly if he is to be a personal slave to her, he knows what that would mean. But she'd shown no interest in his sexual responsiveness back in the Center and surely if he was wanted for that purpose she would have checked that out thoroughly?

He hurries into the shower cubicle, the walls are clear so Mrs Foster can see him but she doesn't follow him in. She turns on hot water and directs him to clean himself. He scrubs enthusiastically, eager to try and rid himself of the smell and feel of his orgasm. The hot water is a pleasure after the cold hosing downs at the Center. He scrubs away at his skin until she turns off the water and approaches him with an electric razor in hand.

"Kneel down, hands on the floor," she orders.

Naked, and still dripping wet, he does so, hands by his side as she commands. She runs the razor over the stubbly hair on his head, shaving it off again. It is too much like being back at the Center while the groomers shave all the hair off his body and he begins to tremble anxiously.

She directs him to clean up his fallen hair and he does so, still on his hands and knees. He had hoped that he would be allowed to have hair on his head at least, other slaves he has seen have had hair but he knows it's not his choice. When he's collected all the hair he places it in the sack that holds his clothes and then he's given some cleaning materials and she gets him to clean the area, erasing any sign of his presence until all the surfaces are gleaming again. These simple physical tasks calm him somewhat and when he finishes he kneels quietly at her feet. She reaches down and clips the leash back on his collar.

"Good boy," she says, patting his head.

He hears her praise and despite himself feels a small glow of pleasure at the kind words. Since his arrival here, and for most of his stay at the Center, he's been treated as no more than a piece of furniture, unable to think or speak for himself. Her recognition of his accomplishment, however small it is, is a human connection that he has found himself missing. If he can do this correctly maybe he can have some function in this hospital, some reason for being.

She leads him back out to the exam room and measures his feet and body for clothing, making sounds of disapproval under her breath. His mother always used to complain about his height as well. He wonders if this means he will be getting some more clothes, and shoes. He hopes so.

Still naked, he's taken through the basement by Mrs Foster to a small cell. He goes in quietly and kneels down in the proper position. Then she leaves without another word.

He's not sure what he's supposed to do now, he's exhausted and he'd like to lie down and sleep. The cell isn't big enough for him to lie flat but he could curl up like he did in the cage where Ben and Ted put him at night. He wonders if this is where he will be kept.

He hasn't been told he can move so he keeps kneeling, eyes down, hands behind his back, knees slightly spread. He can't get into trouble for doing that.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs Foster returns some hours later. She takes him out into the hall and gives him a bag full of clothing. He goes to slip the jeans on when she stops him and tells him sternly that he must wear underwear here and keep himself clean and tidy or he'll be punished. He nods silently, punishment he understands. He pulls on the underwear and then the jeans, the T-shirt he slips over his head. It's nice to be covered up again. He's given some flip-flops for his feet and it feels really strange to be wearing something on his feet again.

She leads him to a dorm room, he sees the beds are made up with a mattress, a sheet and a blanket, items he hasn't had access to in weeks. There is even a little locker by the bunk to put his spare clothes in. He does that and then kneels down quietly next to the bunk ready for further instruction. There are other slaves in the room and one of them, Jon, is told to take him to the slave canteen for dinner. He wonders if there will be the dog food pellets, or if there will be real food. He hopes there is some real food but he tries not to get too excited by the idea in case there isn't.

Apparently he is to work for the other slave's boss, a Mr Smith. He doesn't know what Jon does, or what sort of work he will be doing but he guesses he will find out tomorrow.

He is surprised by the appearance and demeanor of the other slaves. They remind him of the slaves he'd seen in his old hospital, quiet and respectful but not like the slaves back at the Center. These slaves have hair on their heads but also on their arms. They didn't get off their bunks when Mrs Foster came in, although Jon had done so when he'd been addressed. He wonders if any of them have been through one of the Centers and why they don't remember how to behave.

While Mrs Foster is there she does a search of the lockers and finds a hidden chocolate bar. The slave in question, Danny apparently, is ordered to drop his pants and kneel over a bunk, ass out. Mrs Foster hits him with a light cane, and the slave immediately starts crying.

Greg is watching, still kneeling by his bunk, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Jon points to the bunk, indicating Greg should lie in it. Greg stares back at him, unsure. He hadn't been ordered to do anything and he is terrified of doing anything wrong and failing another test. He looks around, all the other slaves are lying in their bunks so after a mental struggle he quickly slides onto his, lying still and staring at the ceiling while the cane swishes down another five times and Danny breaks into hysterical sobs.

Dad used to cane him, in much the same fashion. He was never allowed to cry though. If he'd made a fuss like Danny is doing he'd have been given another six strokes.

"It's for your own good boy," Dad used to say. "You'll thank me later."

He thinks Dad would like Mrs Foster.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's not long after Mrs Foster leaves that a bell rings and the slaves begin to leave the room. Jon taps him on the leg and Greg twitches all over at the unexpected touch from another slave, eyes darting fearfully in case anyone is watching. Jon jerks his head towards the door and Greg gets the message, dinner time.

The canteen is a surprise, it's clean and there are benches and tables so the slaves don't have to eat on the floor. There is a serving station where they pick up hot food. Greg falls into line and takes a bowl of something that looks like mostly vegetables with some boiled rice on the side. He goes to sit down and is surprised when Jon sticks a spoon in his bowl. It's been weeks since he's eaten any food that needed utensils.

They all sit down and the slaves begin eating quietly, intent on their food. Greg waits for someone to tell him to eat, he's been trapped like this before. Jon nudges him and indicates the other slaves, telling him it's okay to eat.

He looks around and notices that the overseer behind the serving station is watching them idly. No-one is being yelled at for eating, so it's probably safe. He goes to put his fingers into his bowl when Jon points his own spoon at him.

"Eat with the spoon, boy."

He hesitantly picks it up and awkwardly spoons the food into his mouth. It's the sort of food he wouldn't have touched before, when he was free, but now it seems like the best thing he has ever eaten. There are some sort of meat scraps in it, which are hard to chew but taste good. Some of the slaves are talking now, making jokes about Jon encouraging him to eat. Danny is eating a bowl of the dog food pellets with his fingers, Greg shudders and looks away, he never wants to see them again.

He finishes the bowl of food and Jon wraps his hand around the apple that is on his plate. He takes a bite but he finds it hard to eat, he hasn't had to bite any of his food for a long time. He keeps nibbling at it but it's slow going and he can see Jon getting impatient with him.

Jon plucks the apple out of Greg's hand and eats it himself. Greg thinks he should be angry at his food being stolen but he can't feel anything.

When Jon asks him his name he freezes. His mind immediately goes back to the Center and the lady in the plush office.

_"What is your name, boy?"_

_Lying there, chained and on a trolley, waiting to be taken back to processing._

_"Anything you want it to be ma'am."_

"I'm Jon. What's your name?" the slave asks again.

House, he longs to say, my name is House. I'm a Doctor, I'm not a slave. My name is House.

"Hey, we're going to work together. What's your name?" Jon is beginning to look annoyed, as he repeats his question.

Greg opens his mouth but freezes, just staring at Jon, he can't say the words.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, he lies on the bed in the dorm. Jon had shown him back here, pointing out the facilities and telling him there was an hour until showers and bed. Then he'd vanished and Greg was alone in the room. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to get on the bed or not, but remembered earlier the slaves had been lying down when Mrs Foster came in. Carefully he lies down on the bunk, still in his clothes, feeling a mattress beneath him, sheets and a blanket, and a pillow. He remembers sleeping last night in his cell, the bed little more than a shelf to lie on, no coverings of any kind. This is luxury.

He is still exhausted but cannot sleep, he is filled with anxiety for tomorrow. He still doesn't know what his function is here, how he will live as a slave. On the one hand he has untold luxuries he didn't have yesterday - bedding, real food, the ability to talk to other slaves if he wants to. Yet he knows he shouldn't be happy about this, he has lost so much more. He has lost his freedom, his career, the ability to decide how his life should proceed, as poor a job as he was doing of it. He thinks of the endless years stretching ahead of him, a collar around his neck, his life as a slave. Is this all he will ever have now?

After a while the other slaves start coming into the dorm. They strip their clothes off, folding them carefully and placing them in their lockers. Then they leave. Jon stops next to him.

"We get a shower now. Take your clothes off, put them away and go to the showers, hurry up, they don't like it if you're late."

He strips off and walks out of the room, down the hallway to the showers, collecting a towel from the laundry window on the way.

The shower is a large communal one, the slaves jostle for position under the nozzles. The water is warm and there are soap dispensers along the wall. As Greg showers he notices that there is a guard just inside the doorway, watching them. The slaves shower silently under his gaze.

The water switches off after a time, the slaves step out and dry themselves off. There is a rack of toothbrushes along one wall, and a long trough like sink. He goes over to the rack and sees that all the toothbrushes have a name on. He finds his next to Jon's.

He stands there for a moment, staring at the brush with his name on. He's been here less than a day and already he has his own labeled toothbrush, there's a certain finality to it.

He jumps as his ass is slapped.

"Stop staring at the toothbrush boy and use it, or I'll use it for you."

The guard is standing behind him, hand raised. He quickly finds the toothpaste dispenser and cleans his teeth.

Back at the dorm he gets in his bunk, burrowing underneath his blanket. It feels warm and comforting against his bare skin, another luxury he hasn't had for months. He snuggles into it, pulling it up around him and shutting out the world.

A security guard steps into the dorm and does a head count and then shuts the heavy door. Greg can hear the lock slipping into place. The light dims but does not go out.

Greg falls asleep and dreams of faceless people screaming at him. He wants to scream back but cannot, he has no voice.


	2. Day One - Friday

**DAY ONE - Friday**

It's only just past four in the morning when they start work, still dark outside and the hospital is night quiet. They go to collect the cleaning supplies from a supervisor and Jon tells him in a few hurried words to keep himself out of sight as much as possible but to do a quick and thorough job of the bathrooms.

Cleaning is not new to Greg. In the Center, once they were out of processing, the slaves would clean the building every morning, under heavy supervision. They were instructed in the right way to clean, and how best to stay out of the sight of free people as they went about their work. They had spent hours of every day on their hands and knees, scrubbing down bathrooms and floors. Any area sloppily done would be redone, many times, until the slave had learned to do it properly. Greg had been trained in how to work silently and efficiently.

Now he kneels before the urinal, wiping the floor tiles with his rag and pushes down his disappointment at learning that he is to be a janitor. He had held out a small amount of hope that he would be employed in some medical capacity, although it was made clear to him in the Center that his past qualifications mean absolutely nothing in his new life as a slave.

He thinks it is ironic, that he originally decided to become a doctor after seeing a janitor function in that capacity in Japan. He'd been in a hospital there, visiting a friend who'd been in a climbing accident, and observed a Baraku - an outcast - mopping a floor. When the doctors had been unable to help his friend they had called in the services of the Baraku. Although he was an outcast in their society they still valued his medical skills.

Now here he was, in the same capacity, a lowly slave cleaning a bathroom. He fantasizes that one day there might be a case no-one can solve and he, the lowly slave, would know the answer.

He is cleaning a fourth floor bathroom when he hears the door open and a large man walks in. He immediately stops scrubbing and drops to his knees, hands folded behind his back as he has been taught, eyes downcast and legs slightly spread. This must be the overseer Jon had spoken of - Mr Smith.

The man grunts at him, and then walks behind him and smacks the back of his bald head, hard. Greg flinches at he blow, he doesn't know what he has done wrong, he is kneeling in the correct position, quiet and attentive.

"Don't know what kind of manners your last owner had you on, but I want you working, boy, not wasting your time with this kind of crap. Finish up this bathroom." The man leaves the bathroom without waiting for a response.

Greg gets up off his knees and redoubles his efforts, making sure the place is spotless and that he doesn't take too long.

When he leaves the bathroom Mr Smith is waiting outside and he freezes, does he kneel or just go to the next bathroom? He feels so uncertain in his new life, unable to decide what to do, which path is the correct one.

Mr Smith points to the stairs and Greg follows him, being careful to make as little noise as possible.

"You're to take that cleaning kit back to where you got it. What dorm were you assigned to?"

"D..d...d..dorm one, sir," he stammers out.

"After you return your kit, get cleaned up, wash those damn flip-flops off, and get into a clean set of clothing. Fold those clothes and put 'em on the bunk, we're not made of money."

Greg stands still, frozen, wondering what this is all about, is he being sold again already? When Smith yells at him to get going he runs down the stairs, heart beating fast, tense and nervous.

Back in the dorm he puts on his spare set of clothes and kneels anxiously at the bottom of his bunk. Somebody will come for him, and take him to where they want him to be.

* * *

He kneels in Doctor Cuddy's office, expressionless, his body holding perfect form. Mrs Foster led him here, at the end of a leash, and then told him to kneel in front of the desk. Now the two women are arguing about him. They are to one side of him so he cannot see them as he stares straight ahead.

Dr Cuddy doesn't like it that he's been shaved bald. She wants to show him to the Board, he doesn't know why, and she doesn't like the way he looks now. He has seen himself in a mirror and he agrees, he looks like an alien creature. Something less than human.

He listens as they discuss his schedule and whether or not he can be trusted with feeding himself and keeping himself clean and exercised. His heart skips a beat when he hears the next thing Dr Cuddy says.

"For the next two weeks, till we get his license reactivated, he'll be setting up the Diagnostics department."

He hears virtually nothing of the rest of the conversation. He hasn't thought about his medical license, and that it would have been deactivated automatically. Now Dr Cuddy is talking about reactivating it, having him set up a department. The idea both excites him and terrifies him. A few months ago he had absolutely no doubts about his medical ability, now he is filled with apprehension. He couldn't save that girl, who'd had appendicitis back in the Center and he was told that he should not even have tried, he wasn't a doctor any more. How can he be a doctor if he is a slave?

Mrs Foster's voice snaps him back to their conversation.

"Greg, you're to be at the exercise field at three sharp, understood?"

He turns his head for the first time to look at her.

"Yes ma'am," he says, before he realizes that he has no idea where that is. He needs to ask.

He swallows nervously, terrified of speaking out of turn.

"Ma'am, permission... to ask..." His voice is rusty from disuse, and he stammers as he stumbles over the question, so unused to talking has he become.

"If you have to ask a question, ask," Mrs Foster says.

"Ma'am, I don't know where the exercise field is, ma'am," he cringes, expecting some consequences for his boldness.

"I'll send one of the slaves on the same exercise schedule to show you the route."

"Thank you ma'am," he says, relieved.

Mrs Foster puts a leash down on the desk and offers some shackles to Dr Cuddy, apparently he is to be left here alone with her. He has another problem, he really needs to go to the bathroom, fairly urgently. If he leaves it any longer he will wet himself again and Mrs Foster won't like that, she might even cane him, like she caned Danny. Mrs Foster said yesterday to ask if he needs to go, but he has just asked a question and he doesn't know if he should ask another one. But if he doesn't say something now he will have to ask Doctor Cuddy when Mrs Foster is gone, and she is already annoyed at him. What if she says no? He realizes that he doesn't have a choice, a few more minutes and he will be wetting himself again, and he _really_ doesn't want to do that.

Gathering up his resolve he stumbled over asking permission to ask a question to Mrs Foster, she, at least, is something of a known quantity.

Mrs Foster does seem annoyed at him for wanting to ask _another_ question, but then smiles and gestures to Doctor Cuddy, telling him he should ask her, as she is his supervisor.

He turn his head and looks at her. He takes a deep breath and gets his question out, waiting anxiously for her response.

"May I have a bathroom break, ma'am?"

Doctor Cuddy just stares at him, disbelief in her eyes. He drops his gaze to the floor, he must have asked incorrectly.

"Good boy."

Mrs Foster pats his head while she praises him for asking. He flushes as he hears her tell Doctor Cuddy how he wet himself yesterday. When he looks up again he sees Doctor Cuddy still staring at him, no doubt wondering how someone who would rather wet himself than ask to go to the bathroom can be a doctor.

As he is led to a bathroom he asks himself the same question.

* * *

Mrs Foster leads him on his leash to the nearest bathroom, one that Greg hadn't reached in his cleaning this morning. She briefly instructs him on the proper procedure for a slave to use the bathrooms used by free people. He is not to enter if there are people already inside, he is not to use the urinal, he is to be quick and quiet in his use of the facilities. If he is working with free people he must ask their permission before leaving to use a bathroom. Greg cringes at the thought of having to constantly ask Doctor Cuddy if he is permitted a bathroom break, she had looked disgusted at his asking. And what if she says 'no' – what will he do then?

Mrs Foster sees him back to Doctor Cuddy's office door and then leaves him, with a final order to be good. He enters quietly and kneels in front of her desk.

She looks at him and sighs.

"Get up Greg, follow me."

They make their way down a couple of floors in the elevator. When he drops to his knees at her feet in the elevator she looks at him and hisses at him to 'get up'. Confused, he gets to his feet. He's been taught that he should kneel whenever a free person escorting him stops moving, now Doctor Cuddy is indicating that isn't correct behavior. When they stop on the next floor a patient in a wheelchair, with a relative pushing, and a nurse enter. They all glance at him and Greg is very conscious of the collar around his neck, marking him as a slave. He wonders whether they are staring at him, annoyed that the slave isn't kneeling as he should? He drops his gaze to the ground and hopes to escape further notice.

When Doctor Cuddy steps off the elevator on the second floor he quickly follows, careful not to touch any of the free people in the elevator car as he leaves.

She pauses at a men's room and, without looking at him, instructs him to go whenever he needs, without asking permission.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, and then, as that doesn't seem adequate for the freedom that she is granting him, he adds quietly, "thank you, ma'am."

The office they go to is a small one, furnished at the moment with only a couple of chairs. Greg can smell a trace of stale cigarette smoke and he swallows down a moment of nausea. The smell brings back memories of his nightmare time in the cage at the Center where he was forced to chain smoke two packets of cigarettes while restrained so he could not move. He drops to his knees and focuses on breathing steadily to calm himself.

His eyes lock onto Doctor Cuddy as she explains that this is to be the diagnostics office and he is to set up a team to take on difficult cases. He will be the property of the department of course, rather than its official head but he will be in charge. She mentions budgets, and fellows, and journals. She talks about how she will be introducing him to department heads, and to the Board of the hospital and he gulps. He can't imagine any department head or Board member being impressed by him, he is every inch a docile slave and he knows it. Now he understands why she was horrified by his lack of hair, being bald will hardly help him create a good first impression.

She keeps pausing and staring at him as she outlines her plans for his future and he responds 'Yes ma'am' and 'No ma'am' at intervals. His thoughts are full of questions about how the new department will function, what type of cases they will take on, who he will have working with him. He can't ask them, he is a slave, it isn't his place to ask questions, except for basic needs, it isn't his place to give his own ideas - he is a slave therefore he shouldn't have any. It _is_ his place to obey. Doctor Cuddy will tell him what to do and he will do it.

At length she moves on to her plans for the free clinic, he is to work there for four hours a day, seven days a week. He's worked in those sort of clinics before in his previous hospitals and hated every minute spent there. The patients are a string of unmitigated idiots, most of their 'illnesses' are STDs or the common cold. Doctor Cuddy seems enthusiastic though and tells him that as well as diagnosing these patients he will be there to provide 'reassurance'. He swallows hard, remembering that in his last hospital he'd lasted one day in the free clinic, before being banned forever after getting into a fist fight with a patient. He doesn't know how reassuring it will be for the patients to be treated by a slave, or if they will even tolerate it.

Doctor Cuddy seems to be waiting for a response though so he says 'yes ma'am' in a small voice.

Eventually she seems to run out of things to say and just looks at him, disappointment in her expression. She looks at her watch and pulls a notepad and pen out of her briefcase.

"I'll be back in an hour, I want you to outline the function of a Diagnostics department and its usefulness to the hospital. You can use the chairs. Don't leave the room, unless you have to of course."

Left alone he looks around at the office, trying to imagine working here, having people _working for him._ Having the most difficult cases of the hospital bought to him, being a doctor of last resort. In all his hospitals he's done it informally but now Doctor Cuddy is giving him a department specifically for diagnosis. If it wasn't for the collar around his neck it would be his dream job.

He kneels next to one of the chairs, resting his notepad on its top. The pen feels strange in his fingers, the paper intimidating in its blankness. Tentatively he heads it up - "PPTH Diagnostics Department Form and Function'. Then he takes a deep breath and starts writing.

The words come surprisingly easy, all the ideas and questions he'd had while Doctor Cuddy was talking to him come tumbling out onto the paper. There is no constraint here, no needing to ask for permission to say anything, and the words he thought he'd lost forever are released through the pen.

For just a few brief moments he isn't Greg, the slave, any more, he is a doctor, a professional, outlining his plans for his new department. A smile forms on his face, his first genuine smile since he found himself in a cage in the Center.

Then the door opens.

"Fucking doctors, think they're fucking God and own the fucking place. Where would they be without..."

Greg freezes as a man comes in, swearing loudly. He is followed by a woman, both are dressed in some sort of uniform with PPTH on it.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man catches sight of him kneeling on the floor and stops his tirade against doctors.

Greg puts his hands behind his back, drops his gaze and spreads his legs slightly apart.

"I am called Greg, sir."

"Well get lost _Greg_ , we are having lunch here and we don't want some fucking slave stinking the place up."

Greg stays kneeling, he can't leave, Doctor Cuddy told him not to.

"Well boy, I gave you an order." The man growls, taking a step forward.

"Sir, I can't leave. Doctor Cuddy told me to stay here and not leave the room. I am sorry, sir."

"Doctor Cuddy huh? She's one of the worst. Thinks maintenance is going to drop everything every time she has a loose screw in her desk. Now she's leaving her slaves all over the hospital."

"Oh, leave him alone, Jack, we only have half an hour for lunch, let's not waste it arguing with a slave. The boy can make himself useful anyway. Come here, boy."

The lady is talking to him and he looks up. She is sitting on one of the chairs and is pointing to the ground at her feet.

He hasn't been given permission to rise so he crawls over and then kneels at her feet.

"Now, bend over so your arms are on the ground, you'll make a nice footrest for me."

He hesitates and Jack comes up behind him, slapping him over the head.

"What are you waiting for boy? Sheila gave you an order."

They are both grinning at him and he gulps.

"Sir, I am supposed to be writing, in that book sir, for Doctor Cuddy. She told me...she's coming back in an hour and I'm supposed to..."

Jack picks up the notebook, flipping through it and then throws it and the pen at Greg's feet.

"Well, looks like you're a clever little slave, if you can write and all. So I'm sure you'll have no trouble multitasking Now bend over like she said."

Greg slowly bends down until he is huddled on the floor. Sheila puts her feet up on his back and sits back.

"Yes, that's right boy, just like that."

She starts eating her lunch and Jack sits down in the other chair and puts his drink on Greg's back next to Sheila's feet.

"Well boy, you'd better get on with your writing, don't want to disappoint Doctor Cuddy do you?"

"No, sir."

To Greg's relief they seem to forget about him then, getting on with eating their lunch and complaining about the other staff of the hospital. He can just about manage to write like this but his writing is very untidy and all he could think about are Sheila's feet on his back. For the next half hour he is to be a foot stool, a piece of furniture for two maintenance workers he wouldn't have given the time of day to in his old life.

When they are finished eating they stand up, he is relieved to have Sheila's feet off his back and starts to straighten up.

"Who told you to move, boy?" Jack asks and he immediately curls up again.

"Are you going to be here again, boy?"

"Sir, this is to be an office for a new department, sir. I will be working here, sir." He thinks it would be better not to tell him that it will be _his_ department, he'd doubt they'd believe him anyway.

"Fuck, we'll have to find some other place to have lunch Sheila. Well boy, you can forget we were here okay? No need to tell Doctor Cuddy that we've been using this place is there?"

"Sir, no sir."

"You'd better not, I'm sure we will be seeing you around the hospital, you fucking slaves are everywhere. If not, well we know where to find you now don't we?"

"Yes, sir." Greg says, hating how his voice is shaking.

Jack laughs and they both leave.

He waits for a minute or two, to be sure they are gone, and then straightens up and crawls to the corner to huddle there and continue with his outline, the words are still coming but he is no longer smiling.

* * *

When Doctor Cuddy comes and fetches him he is relieved to see her. On the way back to her office she goes to another room and pours two cups of strong black coffee and gives them to him to carry. The aroma of the coffee is very enticing, he hasn't had any since his enslavement, and he used to drink the stuff all day long.

They return to her office and she sits down and takes one of the coffees from him and flips through his notebook, drinking from the coffee.

He is still holding the other coffee when she speaks again.

"If you don't want the coffee, just put it down."

The coffee is for him. He's fairly sure he's not supposed to have coffee, certainly there is none in the slave canteen, they have water with each meal. Still, she is his supervisor and she has given him permission to drink it.

He gulps at it, surprised at the strong bitter taste and the heat of it. He used to load his coffee with sugar and this has none, it is almost unpleasant to him now. He sips again, it still doesn't taste that great but it is a link to his old life, another small freedom gained back. He is drinking a cup of coffee, just like he used to.

Doctor Cuddy is reading through his notes, looking pleased, and then she frowns.

"What happened here?"

She is showing him the two pages he wrote while being used as a footrest by Sheila. The writing on those pages is messy, disorganized When he looks at it all he can recall is the fear and shame he felt, crouched over on his knees, being used as a piece of furniture by two maintenance workers.

"The rest is fine," she adds, taking the notebook back.

He remembers Jack's words and tells hers only a small version of the truth, the real truth is nothing he wants her to know anyway.

"Some people came in to have lunch, ma'am. They wanted to know what I was doing there." He can hear the shaking of his voice and is disgusted at himself, when did he become so afraid of everything? The answer is that he knows when, the two months he spent in the Slave Center, being taught that he was no longer a person.

"What did you tell them?"

He doesn't answer, just ducks his head and stares at the floor.

"You shouldn't have let them distract you. You were working on something for me," she tells him sharply.

He wonders how he is supposed to prevent it. Surely she realizes he is a slave and has no power over anyone? Any free person can give him orders.

She gives him the notebook back and tells him to rewrite the messy sections and add some figures from the departmental budget she has worked up. He kneels on the floor, sipping at his coffee and studies the budget figures. Like any employee would he immediately flips to the wages and salaries section to compare wages. He sees the small figure there and realizes his mistake, the only salary noted is for the fellow who will be working for him. It isn't until he is flipping through the assets section that he realizes where he is accounted for, there he is, under fixed assets, right underneath the computer and the office desks and chairs.

He studies the price that the hospital paid for him, it's high, high for a slave he knows, although considerably less than he would have earned in his working life if he'd remained free. If this plan works he knows the hospital has a bargain, if it doesn't work Cuddy will no doubt be called on the carpet for her extravagant purchase. He notices that he is to be depreciated over the standard accounting life of twenty years for fixed assets. It's just a figure for accounting but it gives him pause. He's been a slave for roughly two months, been a slave here for two days - twenty years is an unimaginable length of time for him.

He gets to work, changing his notes and putting the figures in. When he's finished he offers it to Doctor Cuddy who glances through it.

"That's good, my secretary is just down the hall, go and give this to her and ask her to type it up."

He freezes, he doesn't know quite how he is going to do that, he's barely asked two questions since he got here. Doctor Cuddy has gone straight back to work though, and is engrossed in a phone call, so he has no choice.

He finds the secretary, sitting at a desk busily typing away. He comes around in front of her and sinks to his knees, waiting to be noticed. She's been in and out of the office a couple of times since he started working with Doctor Cuddy and now she looks at him impatiently.

"What do you want, boy?"

He offers up the handwritten notes.

"Ma'am, Doctor Cuddy said to give these to you and ask you to type them up, ma'am."

She flips through them and frowns.

"This isn't Doctor Cuddy's handwriting, are these the notes _you_ were working on?"

"Yes, ma'am. Doctor Cuddy said to give them..."

"I heard you the first time, slave."

"Yes, ma'am."

She frowns again, clearly displeased at being given a slave's notes to type up. He keeps kneeling as she hasn't dismissed him.

"What are you waiting for? Go back to work."

"Yes, ma'am."

He spends the afternoon going through the hours and budget for the free clinic. He realizes he is to be the main workforce, all the other doctors will be working two hours a week at most, he'll be doing 28 hours as well as putting in full days in diagnostics.

After some time he needs to go to the bathroom. He glances up, Doctor Cuddy is busy at her desk with something so he gathers his courage and puts his notes aside, stands up and goes out the door without a word.

It is his first truly independent action since becoming a slave and although he knows it is ridiculous to be pleased by such a small thing he feels a sense of triumph when he comes back and kneels again in her office. She glances down at him and says nothing but there is a small smile on her lips.

When Danny comes in, and she sends him away without releasing Greg for his exercise session, he bites his lip, wondering what Mrs Foster will say, she was quite clear that she wanted him to exercise at three o'clock, now he'll be late.

He can tell Mrs Foster is furious when she comes for him. She takes him outside the office and tethers him to a wall and then goes back into the office. He can't hear what they say but Mrs Foster still looks annoyed when she comes out. She takes him downstairs in an elevator instead of using the stairs and he kneels at her feet while they descend.

"Sorry ma'am, sorry." He offers, hoping to forestall any punishment.

She glances at him and then looks away.

He hangs his head, dejected. In trouble already and it is only his first day.

He is told to strip for exercise and he makes his way out onto the muddy field and is set to running laps by the overseer - a Mr Johnson. He has always loved to run and he runs now, trying to outrun the confusion of the day. He sees Mrs Foster and Mr Johnson talking and laughing together at the edge of the field.

The other slaves all finish their exercise at 4.30 and he is left alone with Mr Johnson. He is directed to pick up the hurdles and other equipment and store them away in the shed, clean up the area and then kneel in the mud waiting for Mr Johnson.

He kneels quietly, covered in sweat and mud, shivering in the cool breeze. He wonders why he is being kept here, when exercise is clearly finished for the day. When Mr Johnson returns he has a leash. He clips the leash onto Greg's collar and leads him back into the inside area where the benches are.

"Now boy, kneel down over the bench."

Greg looks at him with wide eyes but then kneels, chest on the bench, knees on the ground, ass exposed to Mr Johnson. He feels a large hand on his ass, running up and down his flank, petting him. He begins to tremble, as he realizes what is about to happen.

"Now boy, none of that. I'm not going to hurt you," Mr Johnson says quietly, continuing to pet him, as one might try and gentle a wild horse.

"P..p..p...p..please sir, d..d..d.. don't..." Greg stammers out, fear overcoming his reluctance to speak up.

"Shh, quiet now, it's going to be okay. This is nothing to be scared of, this is part of what you are for. Be a good boy now and there will be a treat for you when we're finished."

His shaking knees are pushed wide apart and fingers enter him, preparing him with lube, stretching him. Mr Johnson puts a hand firmly in the middle of his back and presses him down so he can't move. Greg whimpers in distress as Mr Johnson enters him and the overseer makes soothing noises and pats his back until he settles down.

"Quiet, boy, you'll enjoy this, I know you will, you all do. It will be better for you if you relax."

Greg had hoped that this wouldn't happen here, that what had happened in the Center was just part of the dehumanizing process the slaves underwent. He knew that in his old hospital slaves were used sexually by some of the staff, but they had always said the slaves wanted it and enjoyed it.

Greg doesn't want it, and doesn't enjoy it. It happens anyway.

Afterward Mr Johnson has him kneel on the ground by the bench. The overseer tells him to open his mouth and, trembling, Greg does so. A square of chocolate is placed on his tongue.

"You eat that boy, you were very good. You're a very good boy." He reaches out and strokes Greg's bald head as he eats his chocolate. Greg always used to like chocolates, back when he was free, sometimes he'd scoff a whole box in one sitting. In the Center he had tried his hardest to win one of the chocolates the trainers handed out, although he never did. This one tastes like ash in his mouth. The price is too high.

* * *

When Greg lies in his bunk that night he draws the blanket around him, covering his nakedness up as much as possible. He is confused and uncertain. The day has been both a promise of better things to come and a harsh introduction to his life as a non-person.

Doctor Cuddy has outlined a future for him that sounds, if not everything he had wanted for his life, at least tolerable. He would be working as a Doctor, in a challenging position, he could earn some respect. Then Mr Johnson used him and showed him what he really was, all he could ever be now. Any control he thought he had over his life now would only ever be an illusion. At any point people could use him for whatever they wanted, for furniture or to fuck, there would be a string of Sheilas, Jacks, and Mr Johnson's, all using him for their own ends.

In the dim room he hears Danny crying. His own tears, when they come, are silent.


	3. Day Two - Saturday

**DAY TWO - Saturday**

Greg wakes when an alarm sounds the next morning and the door to the dorm is swung open. He wonders for a moment where he is. Reality quickly crashes back in and he gets up with the other slaves, dragging on the stained clothes from his cleaning work yesterday morning. He makes his way with Jon to go and pick up the cleaning supplies, nobody has told him differently so he assumes he's still assigned to sanitation when he's not wanted elsewhere. Hopefully Doctor Cuddy will call for him again. It's very early though and he knows that won't be for several hours, if it happens at all.

* * *

He's doing a fifth floor bathroom when a man appears and tells him to report now to Doctor Cuddy on the fourth floor and to be 'damned quick about it, boy'. He can tell the man isn't happy but Greg is relieved. Anything will be better than cleaning more bathrooms.

His meeting with Doctor Cuddy doesn't start well. As he kneels in front of her she looks him over.

"This is unacceptable," she says.

He knows that his clothes are stained and that he smells of sweat and cleaning fluids. Yesterday he had been directed to wash and change before going to see Doctor Cuddy, today he hadn't. Maybe he should have done that but the man had said to be quick. He trembles a little, worried, maybe she'll just decided to send him away. She might conclude that her idea of having a slave be a doctor was foolish and he will spend the rest of his life cleaning bathrooms.

"Get up," she tells him. "You shouldn't be going to your knees all the time."

Quickly he rises to his feet but keeps his eyes down and his hands behind his back, making himself as small and humble as possible.

"Sorry, ma'am," he says meekly.

"Really - this is unacceptable. You weren't bought to do this kind of work. You shouldn't be turning up in my office dressed like this or smelling like this."

"Sorry, ma'am," he says again. He doesn't know what else he can say.

"Do you have _anything_ clean to wear?"

"The clothes I wore yesterday, ma'am," he answers. He has nothing other than what has been given to him.

"Hurry back down to your dorm, get cleaned up and change into your other clothes," Doctor Cuddy tells him. "If anyone tries to stop you or tells you to do anything else, tell them to call my office. Then come right back up here."

She had told him to hurry so he runs from her presence and down the four flights of stairs to the dorms. The showers are empty at this time of day and he discovers that the water is cold, he quickly cleans himself up and then steps out, naked and shivering. There are no towels, they pick them up when they go to the showers in the evening. As he steps out of the bathroom he hears a shout.

"You, boy! Stop there."

He stops abruptly and drops to his knees, still shivering, waiting for the guard to come up to him.

She stands over him, one hand on a baton by her waist.

"What are you doing down here at this time of day, why aren't you working?"

"Ma'am, this slave is to work for Doctor Cuddy today and was told to come and clean up and change clothes. Doctor Cuddy said to call her office if you wish to confirm, ma'am."

"Huh, she did, did she? What are you called boy?"

"They call this slave Greg, ma'am."

"Stay just like that, Greg, leave your hands behind your back."

The guard walks away and Greg waits, kneeling in the corridor. He is dripping water on the floor but can do nothing about that, he doesn't dare move a muscle.

When she returns she sounds disappointed that Doctor Cuddy had confirmed his story. She throws him an old towel.

"Dry yourself off boy, and clean that floor up."

She hasn't told him to get up so he does it where he is, and she watches his every move. When he is finished he uses the towel to dry the floor behind him and then returns to his kneeling position.

"Okay boy, go and get dressed and be quick about it, slaves aren't supposed to be in the dorms during the day. Fold those clothes up nicely, there's nothing wrong with them, you can wear them tomorrow. "

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Doctor Cuddy seems to approve of his cleaner appearance.

"We're going outside, Greg," she told him. "Hospital regulations say I have to have you shackled and on a leash. Don't give me any trouble, and in future, we may be able to dispense with the shackles."

He stares at her, surprised. He wonders if she has sold him on, he doesn't think so, given the plans she'd outlined yesterday. He'd like to ask where they are going but of course he can't.

She clips a leash on his collar, the first time she has done so, and walks him to an underground carpark. She has a smart car, parked close to the entrance and she tells him to sit on the back seat. He holds his feet out when ordered and she fits some shackles to his ankles which will effectively hobble him so he can only take small steps.

As she drives he peers out the window. He's never been in this city before and he takes in as much detail as he can, including the route they take. They pull up outside some shops and go into a clothing store, he moves at a show shuffle due to the shackles.

When they enter a sales assistant comes straight over, staring at him.

"Please fasten the slave over here," he indicates a hook on the wall to Doctor Cuddy, in a discreet corner, and they go over to it.

Doctor Cuddy clips his leash onto the hook and the sales assistant bends to remove his shackles.

"I'm going to take some measurements now, stand still, boy."

Greg holds still as the assistant runs his tape measure over his body. He misses no opportunity to run his hands over Greg's body, taking an inside leg measurement and casually cupping his genitals, while he's doing the waist measurement he feels Greg's ass out, slipping his fingers down inside his waistband. Greg glances at Doctor Cuddy but she is looking away, there is no help for him there, he does his best to ignore the roving hands.

The assistant finishes off with some chest measurements and then efficiently gets out a pile of clothing. Greg can see it is of much better quality than the worn clothes he's been given so far. He remembers shopping in another branch of this chain store in his student days at Michigan. Of course when he was buying clothes then he wasn't tethered to a wall by a leash, and he was the one doing the buying. As he watches Doctor Cuddy pay for the clothes he realizes that his days of buying anything are over. It's ironic really, it was his excessive spending, not to mention his excessive drinking and gambling, that got him into this situation, and he's been effectively cured of all his bad habits. He doesn't have any financial problems now.

While Doctor Cuddy is paying the sales assistant tries to talk her into additional purchases, 'in case you want to dress him up.' Greg assumes that he thinks that he is to be her personal slave.

Doctor Cuddy smiles and tells the sales assistant she has everything she needs, and to please shackle the slave again.

They do a slow walk to the car again, his leash held loosely in her hand. Greg notices that the other people on the sidewalk either pretend they don't exist or openly stare at them. He wonders what he must look like in his ill fitting clothes, his almost bald head, shackles on his ankles and walking on a leash held by a well dressed woman.

Back in the hospital he works on his notes again, kneeling by her feet in her office. When she brings out a sandwich for lunch his mouth waters at the sight, he's had nothing since six this morning. To his surprise she brings out another sandwich and gives it to him. He takes it hesitantly and then at a nod from her he eats it. It's a salad sandwich on some sort of organic wholemeal bread and in his prior life he would have hurled it in the bin. Now he savors every bite.

She sends him for coffee and as he sips that and works away on his notes he briefly forgets that he's a slave.

He's abruptly brought back to earth when she sends him to go and do his exercise. He's reluctant to go, the day is cool and he can see there's a light rain against the window. The memory of what happened yesterday after exercise is still fresh in his mind, he doesn't know how often that will happen, or even if Mr Johnson will be there today. He wants to stay here, where it's safe.

He gives her a reluctant look but she ignores it and he leaves.

* * *

When he reaches the exercise area he can see the other slaves from his dorm are already there, doing laps around the field. He quickly strips off his clothes, leaving the new ones in their bag underneath the bench.

He runs outside and tries to sneak into the procession of running slaves but a voice brings him up short.

"You're late, boy." Mr Johnson is there, tapping a cane on the ground. Greg swallows hard and sinks to the muddy ground on his knees.

"Sir, this slave was working for Doctor Cuddy." He's figured out that Doctor Cuddy is fairly high up in the hospital food chain and hopes that he will be forgiven.

Mr Johnson looks annoyed but then grunts.

"On your feet boy, you're here to exercise not lay around. You can do some hurdles today, I'll get Danny to show you how."

He calls Danny over, the slave comes over slowly, glaring at Greg.

"Danny, show new boy here how to do the hurdles. I know you like doing them."

Mr Johnson laughs and leaves them to it. Danny gives Greg a resentful look

"Stupid new boy," he hisses under his breath. "Don't know why I've got to do these when you're the one who was late."

He takes off, clearing the hurdles with difficulty. Greg follows, his taller frame sailing over them easily.

When the other slaves are dismissed Mr Johnson calls Greg over.

"You can help me do clean up again, boy."

He trembles where he is kneeling, he doesn't want to do that again.

"Sir, I can't sir, Doctor Cuddy told me to be clean up and be back at her office at 4.30."

"Doctor Cuddy again huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you'd better get to it then boy, run!"

He jumps to his feet and takes off, the other slaves are just finishing in the communal shower and he joins them for a quick scrub down, toweling off before taking up the bag with his new clothes in it.

They feel good against his skin, they fit perfectly and it's nice to have proper shoes on his feet again. The shirt helps make him feel less like a scruffy cleaning slave and more like a doctor.

Suddenly he realizes that the other slaves are staring at him. They are all dressed in their stained worked clothes.

Mr Johnson comes through the hallway, and also stops and stares.

"Where did you get those clothes, boy?"

"Sir, Doctor Cuddy bought them for me, sir. We went into town..."

He trails off as Mr Johnson frowns at him.

"Did you forget how to kneel, boy?"

He realizes that, for the first time, he's forgotten to kneel when a free person addresses him. He quickly sinks down, hoping that his new clothes don't get dirty.

"Sorry, sir," he begins to tremble, unsure of himself now when he'd felt so good only a few minutes before.

"You went into town with Doctor Cuddy to buy these clothes?"

"Yes, sir." He gulps, surely he can't get into trouble for that, it wasn't like he had any choice in the matter.

Mr Johnson stares at him, then at the slaves who are still lingering in the hallway, watching them.

"Get back to work the rest of you," he snaps and they all run off quickly.

Mr Johnson glares at him where he's kneeling, lips pursed in irritation.

"Off you go then boy, don't keep Doctor Cuddy waiting."

"Yes, sir, thank you sir," he scrambles to his feet and takes off. He notices as he makes his way through the hospital that several people stare at him but nobody else stops him. He is relieved when he reaches the sanctuary of Doctor Cuddy's office and pleased when she approves of his new look.

She gives him a reading list. "We'll get the materials out of the hospital library now, and you can take them down to the Diagnostics office for tomorrow. You're to spend your working day in there, reading and taking notes, except when you have a meal break or an exercise break."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies.

This is a thing he would have scorned a few weeks ago, he didn't like taking notes even when he was studying for exams. Now it sounds like heaven, except when he remembers Jake and Sheila. They said they would find another place for lunch, but what if they hadn't? What if anyone else stopped by? He's aware by now of how vulnerable this collar around his neck makes him, he's fair game for any free person.

The hospital medical library is well supplied and Doctor Cuddy piles him high with books, more than he could read in several weeks, let alone one day. She tells him she won't punish him for not making it through them all, he's not sure if she's joking or not so he just quietly says 'thank you, ma'am.'

He sees an opportunity to escape the next exercise session, and Mr Johnson.

"Please, ma'am, could...could this slave not go to exercise tomorrow? This slave could finish this..." he's shaking by the end, asking questions is still not easy and this is a lot to ask, he's not sure how she's going to react.

She laughs at him. As he hangs his head, she tells him he's to make sure he doesn't miss his meals and he's to exercise on schedule and not to get his new clothes dirty. He wonders briefly if she knows what the exercise sessions are like, and what happens afterward He thinks she probably doesn't, she doesn't seem to know much about what being a slave is like. It's nothing like he expected either, if he'd ever bothered to think about it. The slaves in his old hospital had always seemed content in their work and their place.

She has him stack the books and writing materials on a chair and then gives him a key to the office. He stares at it, the first thing he's been given to keep except for clothes since he became a slave.

* * *

At dinner that night Danny sits opposite him and glowers at him all through the meal. The other slaves ignore him as he sits there in his new clothes and shiny shoes. He doesn't care, he has a key to his own office in his pocket and no bathrooms to clean tomorrow.


	4. Day Three - Sunday

**Day Three – Sunday**

When he wakes up he's feeling somewhat closer to happy than he has since becoming a slave. No bathroom cleaning today, just a whole lot of reading in a nice empty office, _his office._ He gets up with the alarm and starts putting on his new clothes, they're still fairly fresh.

Jon is hissing at him, trying to get his attention.

"Hey, Greg."

Greg looks at him but keeps getting dressed, he has no wish to be delayed, he wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

"You need to get into your regular clothes, we've got to clean the whole basement today."

Well, Greg already has his orders for today and they don't include any cleaning. He ignores Jon and slips out the door and to the stairs that lead up to the main area of the hospital. He climbs the stairs quickly but quietly. It's early so there aren't many people around which suits him. He keeps his head down and walks near to the wall and mostly escapes notice.

* * *

When he gets to the office, _his office_ , he takes the key out of his jeans and unlocks it. Stepping inside he closes the door firmly and locks the door again. There's a window out to the corridor but if he keeps low and to one end of the room nobody passing by should see him. It will look just like an empty office, and no one else has a key, as far as he knows. He'll be undisturbed.

He takes the first book and slips onto the ground, back against a wall and starts reading.

* * *

He realizes that it must be close to breakfast time when he starts feeling hungry. He'd rather stay hungry and not leave but Doctor Cuddy had said not to miss meals so he slips out of the office, careful to lock it behind him again and makes it to the canteen just in time.

He falls into line behind Jon who gives him an odd look which he ignores, there's some cheese and jam as well as the usual cereal and bread. He helps himself to a large spoonful of the jam and a hunk of cheese and sits down. He figures the cheese and jam must be a special Sunday thing. Who needs Sunday Night Football when you can have cheese and jam?

There's some sort of vegetable crap over his cereal but it's hot and filling and he's hungry so he attacks it, wolfing it down.

Danny is standing opposite him, staring at him and saying he shouldn't have taken the cheese and jam as he hasn't been working.

"I worked," he said quietly. He may have to let free people order him around but he's not going to take it from other slaves. He doesn't want any trouble here, he just wants to eat his breakfast and get back to his office.

"You didn't," Danny whines. He leans across the table and gets into Greg's face.

"I worked," Greg says more forcefully. He looks to Jon for some help but there's no help there so he just keeps eating. He's not sure what's going to happen next but he doesn't want to miss out on his food.

Danny sits down suddenly and Greg sees why, two security guards have come in, their hands on their batons. All the slaves stare at their food, huddling down on the benches.

They come to his table and lift Danny up forcefully, putting him on the floor on all fours. Danny complains to them that Greg has taken food he shouldn't have.

Greg knows what's next, he slips off the bench quickly and kneels on the floor in the usual position, head bowed.

"You're the slave Doctor Cuddy bought," a guard asks, standing over him

"Yes, ma'am," he answers quietly. He hopes that the words 'Doctor Cuddy' may protect him a little.

The guard questions the supervisor who confirms that Greg has done nothing wrong.

Danny's food is put on the floor in front of him, so that he can eat it dog style from the bowl. Greg doesn't look at him.

He's told to get back up and finish his food. He sits down but his hand is shaking as he takes up his spoon. The guard comes and stands behind him while he eats, now he can barely choke it down. All the slaves are eating intently, their eyes on their bowls and nowhere else, the room is silent. Danny is eating from his bowl, the guard standing over him, the only sound is his muffled sobs.

Finally Greg finishes his meal and puts his spoon down. He sits with his hands clasped in front of him, head bowed.

The guard asks him where he got the clothes and he repeats what he had said to Mr Johnson yesterday, although he leaves out the part about going shopping with Doctor Cuddy.

"And who told you to wear them this morning?"

"Ma'am, Doctor Cuddy bought them for me to wear, ma'am."

"But Doctor Cuddy isn't here to see you, so what made you think you should wear those clothes?"

"Sorry, ma'am," he said, stammering. "This slave - this slave didn't know - Doctor Cuddy told me ..." he realizes that they all think Doctor Cuddy is dressing him up so he looks nice for her. Like the guy in the shop yesterday they think he's her personal slave.

The guard puts her hand on his shoulder, and starts tapping her baton against the side of his head.

It's scary but he suddenly realizes that's all it is. The guard isn't about to slam the baton against his head because he's wearing the wrong clothes. Any blow like that to the head could kill him. He's seen the budget, he knows how much the hospital just paid for him, and that Doctor Cuddy has plans for him. They're not going to kill him on a whim. He calms down a bit and tries to ignore the clicking of the baton against his head.

"Now how did you manage to get your cleaning duties done without spoiling those smart new clothes?"

The guard keeps up the steady rhythm of the baton against the side of his head as he explains that Doctor Cuddy assigned him to do other work all day, which was why he didn't clean this morning. To his surprise his voice comes out clear and confident, even though he's shaking inside, he knows he's in the right.

To his relief the other guard provides a distraction, hauling Danny to his feet and suggesting they get him to 'the cage'. Greg doesn't know what that means, but as long as it's Danny and not him he doesn't care.

The guard has a parting shot at him - "We'll talk to Mrs Foster about you." He shivers a little, he suspects Mrs Foster won't be pleased about his missing cleaning duties but he also knows that Doctor Cuddy is higher up in the hospital hierarchy.

As they file out of the canteen he is shoved from behind, he trips and looks around but sees only impassive slaves staring at him. He knows they resent him for his new clothes and his 'cushy' job. Not wanting to cause trouble he turns around again and quickly leaves the room. He hurries to the stairs and dashes up them, eager to get away, back to his office.

* * *

He spends the day engrossed in the books. He's thinking of everything from a diagnostic angle now, rather than his specialties of nephrology and infectious diseases. He's trying to figure out the best way to approach things diagnostically. He's had no formal training in that, apart from the brief medical school course, but it's something he's picked up as he's been working. He's never contemplated approaching it as its own specialty but now he can see how it can work. He's already thinking ahead, to the techniques he will use, the best approach. He'll need his fellow to run tests, duplicate previous results, get family histories. He'll need to know everything about his patients, right down to where they usually work and live as so many conditions have an environmental factor...

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door opening. He looks up to see a security guard staring at him, her eyes wide.

His first thought is 'what are you doing coming into my office like this', then he remembers what he is now and clamps down on the thought. He's still annoyed though and just stares at her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks.

She looks frightened, and he notices that she is armed, and her hand has gone to her pistol.

"You. I'm talking to you, boy. Get down on to your face. Keep your hands out where I can see them. Slowly, I don't want to see any quick moves."

He flops over, heart hammering loudly. They might not kill him on a whim but this is a scared woman with a hand on a gun. She probably thinks he's an escaped slave or something, hiding out.

"Crawl. Stay on your belly. Move into the middle of the floor."

He crawls on his front to the center of the room and lies with arms and legs wide out, trying to show he's not a threat. He hears her go and kick his books to the ground, looking to see if he was hiding anything.

She seems a little calmer as she runs her hands up and down his prone body, searching him. He lies perfectly still.

She interrogates him as to what he's doing in the office, he begins to realize how strange it must be for her, to see a slave locked in an office doing nothing but reading books. He wishes that Doctor Cuddy would put out a memo or something, anything, to explain to people what his function is, so he doesn't have to keep doing it.

He is shaking now and he stammers as he answers her questions. He tries to explain that Doctor Cuddy has told him to do this, and to be here today but she doesn't seem to believe him. She seems amazed that he would lock himself into the office, or that a slave would be given a key.

Finally she tells him to get up, onto his knees.

Her hand is off her gun, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He assumes the kneeling position, dropping his head and spreading his legs a little wider than usual, trying to appear as harmless as possible.

She asks him for his key and he hesitates, reluctant to hand it over. It's his, and he doesn't want to give it to her. She's annoyed and her voice sharpens when she asks him again. He realizes that he has no choice, takes it out of his jeans pocket and gives it to her. She nods and orders him to go back to his books.

He stays on his knees until she leaves and then after the door is shut he hears the key turning in the lock, he is locked in.

There's a world of difference between locking yourself in a room and being locked in. The books look uninteresting now, his notes pointless. Before, he was a doctor working away in his office, albeit sitting on the floor in a corner. Now, he's just a captive, locked in, at the mercy of those outside. They'll decide when he can come out, or who can come in the office. He goes back to his pile of books but for a long while just sits there, staring at the wall opposite, looking frequently at the door, waiting for it to open again.

* * *

A guard finally comes for him, by this time it's very dark outside and he realizes he has missed both his exercise session and his dinner. Dinner wasn't his fault, he was locked up, but he's not sure exactly when the guard had locked him in, before or after he should have gone to exercise. He hopes that no-one will check too closely. He's hungry though, and he's desperate for a bathroom.

The guard seems harassed and in a hurry.

Greg has gone to his knees but the guard barks at him to get up.

"Come on slave, get a move on."

He hurries to the door. The guard pushes him out and locks the door up behind him. Greg wants to ask for his key back but thinks he'd better not, the guard seems annoyed enough already. He's worried though, Doctor Cuddy had told him to see her on Monday morning with the key and his notebook, he's left the notebook behind in the hurry to leave and he doesn't have the key.

And he has an urgent problem, something he just _has_ to ask.

"Sir, this slave needs to...needs to..."

"What is it, boy? I have to get you downstairs."

"...the bathroom..."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." They are passing the men's room door and the guard opens it and shoves him inside. "You have thirty seconds, boy."

When he comes back out the guard clips him over the back of his head.

"Now get a move on."

He's hustled down the stairs and into the basement. It's quiet down here now, most of the slaves are already back in the dorms. The security guard leads him to a small office.

There's a man inside, working behind a desk, he looks up as they enter and Greg automatically drops to his knees.

"Here's Doctor Cuddy's slave."

"You should have brought him down earlier, he's missed his meal now."

The guard shrugs.

"He shouldn't have been up there by himself like that, in an office. We didn't know anything about it."

"We'll get it straightened out on Monday, you can leave him here now."

The guard leaves and the man gets up, going to a cupboard and bringing out a bag of the dog food he'd had in the center and that Danny has been eating the last couple of days. He's heard one of the supervisors call it 'slave chow' in the canteen but it still looks like dog food to him. The man pours some out into a bowl and places it in front of Greg on the floor.

"Eat that quickly, it's nearly time for your dorm to close up for the night."

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if he is supposed to eat it without using his hands, like Danny had, but he scoops up a handful and doesn't get yelled at. It tastes as boring as it had back in the Center and he can barely eat it now, after a couple of days of real food.

When he finishes the bowl, the man shoves a small bottle of water in his hand and he drinks that down.

"We'll be talking to Doctor Cuddy about you tomorrow, and confirming what she told you to do today. If you've been lying about any of it you'll be punished, boy. Now get on your feet and go straight to the dorm, you've missed your shower for today."

He gets up, hurries out and runs along the corridor, barely slipping into the room in front of the guard who is coming to lock up. He quickly gets out of his clothes and into his bunk, pulling the covers up around him.

When he rolls over he can see Danny's bunk is empty.


	5. Day Four - Monday

 

**Day Four - Monday**

Greg peers out the bathroom window on the second floor. There's nothing to see, it's barely five and the sun hasn't risen yet. He's already been at work for an hour, cleaning the bathrooms as part of the sanitation squad. He has to report to Doctor Cuddy's office at seven this morning, although he doesn't have either the key to his office or his notebook as she ordered. Nobody has given him any other instructions so he just got into his 'cleaning clothes' and started work. He figures he can't get into any trouble for cleaning bathrooms, except maybe from Doctor Cuddy and he'll make sure he's clean and in his nice clothes before he goes to her office.

He thinks the early starts should bother him, he's always been a 'lie in bed as long as possible' sort of guy, well ever since he left his father's home. But his stay in the Center completely destroyed his sense of time and his body has just adapted to this routine. Going to sleep at eight in the evening would once have been a laughable thought, now it's routine. It's not like he has anything to stay up for.

He works industriously until ten minutes before six and then goes down to the basement for his breakfast. There's no cheese and jam today, just the cereal with bread and water. There's still no sign of Danny. The other slaves mostly ignore him, talking quietly amongst themselves. He keeps his head down and eats his food, he doesn't want any trouble.

As they are leaving, the canteen supervisor calls him over.

"You, big boy!"

He stops and goes to kneel but the supervisor motions for him to stop.

He's handed a bowl of the slave chow and a bottle of water.

"Take that to the security station, just down the hall. Don't eat any of it, just take it there. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers smartly, although he doesn't really. Why would he be taking slave food to the security office?

"Good. Off you go then, boy, and be quick about it."

He goes straight there, the door is open so he enters and looks around. There's a couple of chairs and desks, filing cabinets, the usual office stuff. There's a dusty cage in one corner, with coffee cups and other crap sitting on it.

There's Danny.

In the cage.

He's naked, chained hand and foot, lying on the bare, cold surface of a cage barely big enough to hold him.

_He's back in processing._

_The girl is dead and he's back in processing. They haven't blinded him this time, or deafened him, they didn't need to. Everything he was has gone and all that is left is this barely human naked body lying in a wire cage, there to be taken out and used whenever they want._

He collapses to his knees and stares at the cage. Danny sees him and stares back. There's an emptiness in his eyes, a loss, his eyes are the girls, staring at him, pleading with him to help her, to stop her pain.

He can't. He can't do anything.

_He's back in processing, hands are pulling at him, shaking him, voices are yelling._

The slave chow drops, pellets run across the floor, he hears someone sobbing.

_The girl stares at him._

_"Help me, please help me."_

_"I can't. I can't."_

Hands pull at him, hauling him to his feet, he can't walk. Someone is still sobbing. There's movement, he's struggling, he's drowning, there's a blow he barely feels.

He's shoved down on his knees, he feels a tug on his neck and then something thrown at him. There's more voices but he can't make out what they're saying. Someone grabs his arm and he feels a needle.

He looks down and there's blood, his blood, coming out of his arm.

He's in an office, a lady is taking his blood. Mrs Foster is there. He moves his head and feels the tug on his collar, he's leashed to the wall. Kneeling in front of Mrs Foster's desk.

He's not in processing. He looks around, the world is slowly coming back into focus. There's a clock.

It's past seven. He's late. He's late for Doctor Cuddy.

Seven. Doctor Cuddy's office at seven. Notepad and pen. He knows that.

"Ma'am," he said. "Need... this slave needs, I'm supposed... this slave should report to Doctor Cuddy. I'm late. I was supposed to be there at seven." It's the most important thing in the world. He's not an animal in a cage, he's a doctor, he can be a doctor at seven. He's late. He was supposed to be there at seven.

He focuses on Mrs Foster, she's asking him questions. What were Doctor Cuddy's orders? He thinks. He was to study, and take notes, she gave him a notebook and a key.

"I'm supposed to report to her at seven with the key and my notes..."

He needs to make her understand. He's late, he's supposed to be there at seven. He needs to get away, he can be a doctor at seven and he's late.

"Did Doctor Cuddy tell you to lock yourself into the office?"

He stares at her wide-eyed, trying to think. Doctor Cuddy gave him the key, she told him to be at her office at seven (and he's late) and give her the key (and he doesn't have it). That's all she said.

Mrs Foster is waiting for an answer. He gulps, he knows it's the wrong answer.

"No."

"Did Doctor Cuddy give you explicit permission to avoid doing your Sunday morning cleaning duties?"

He looks around, trying to escape her gaze, Doctor Cuddy didn't. She probably had no idea about Sunday morning but she didn't tell him not to do it.

He whispers, "No."

She nods. She tells him to take deep breaths and calm down.

He tries, his eyes lock on hers, he's not in processing, he's not in a cage. He's here with Mrs Foster.

"Why are you so upset?" she asks.

"Please... Danny. The boy... in the cage. Why is he... what's going to happen to him...?" He stumbles over the words, he needs to know. _He's in a cage, curled up, blind and deaf. He's back in processing._ He hears sobbing again.

"Danny's in the cage because he's continuously disruptive and lazy. He'll be punished later. How is none of your business. I'm sure you never want to have to be caged."

He shakes his head, he'll be a good boy, he doesn't want to be in a cage. Danny's in a cage, and it's all his fault. He curls around himself, tears are falling onto his jeans.

He hears a voice calling him, Greg, Greg, is that his name?

"The child," he says "I couldn't save the child..."

_He's back in processing and he couldn't save the child._

She leaves him alone, and he huddles down, gulping for breath.

She does something at her desk and then looks at him.

"Deep breaths and calm down," she tells him, "I'll deal with you in about twenty minutes, and I'll call Doctor Cuddy."

* * *

He wipes down the urinal with his cloth, focusing on the simple task. His backside is stinging, there are four red stripes across it.

The first was a shock. It's been years since he's felt the cane. Bare ass bent over Mrs Foster's desk, door open so anyone passing by can see. He'd heard the sound and then felt the sting.

The second came as he was barely recovering from the first.

"Those are for missing Sunday morning cleaning."

 _I didn't know, I didn't know,_ he wanted to say but he knows there's no excuses. _Take it like a man, Gregory._

The third and the fourth make him gasp but he doesn't cry.

"Those are for locking yourself in the office."

She tells him to stand up and pull his jeans up. Now he has to thank her.

He knows this bit, Dad always did this, ' _thank me son, thank me for teaching you'._

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Go back to work, Greg. If Doctor Cuddy still wants to see you you'll be informed."

He wipes down the urinal. Another bathroom clean. He's not in processing, he's cleaning.

* * *

He kneels in Doctor Cuddy's office with his nice clothes on.

"You remember I told you to make sure you did exercise on Sunday?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I told Mrs Foster that you were capable of keeping yourself fed, exercised and clean and you let me down, Greg."

"Yes, ma'am."

She hands him his notes, they've been typed up.

"I want this done as a paper, first draft Friday."

"Yes, ma'am."

He's given an alarm clock and the key again. She tells him not to lock himself inside and not to miss his meals and exercise.

He's to go and work in the diagnostics office, alone, but not to lock himself in. Jack and Sheila could come in. They might bring friends. Anyone can come in. He's a slave, they can order him to do anything they want.

He wants to stay here, work with Doctor Cuddy in this nice office. No-one will hurt him here.

She sends him away.

He doesn't shut the door. Shutting it might be too much like locking it and he can't do that. He doesn't want to get into trouble. If he does something wrong they might put him in the cage. Like Danny.

He kneels on the floor in the corner, in front of the books. The notepad and pen are in his hands. He opens the notepad, reads his notes. They don't mean anything to him. He can't think what to write next. Doctor Cuddy wants him to write up a paper, all he can think about is Danny in the cage, down in the basement.

He puts his hands behind his back and lowers his head.

He thinks about cages.

* * *

Danny is gone. They came and took him away. Greg didn't see it but one of the slaves made sure to tell him. It's his fault. They've taken him to a Center. He'll be shaved all over, shoved in a cage and taken out to be used. Kneeling outside, for hours, waiting for orders. Walked on a leash. No talking, no good food. Tested. He won't know who he is when he comes out.

Mrs Foster gives Danny's bunk to Jon. Greg moves along one bunk, he gets a new locker. There's a pile of clothes to go in the locker. They're not his because slaves don't own things but he can wear them.

She sends Kev for a cane. Then she tells Greg to bare his ass and kneel over his bunk.

All the other slaves watch as she gives him two more strokes, on top of the four slashes already there.

"This is for missing yesterday's exercise."

They hurt but it doesn't matter. He's not in processing, he's not going back to the Center, he's not in a cage, he's not Danny.

He pulls his jeans up and stands up.

"Thank you, ma'am," he says and she nods and leaves.

Kev comes over to him and tells him to pay attention and shows him how to sew tags into the new clothing so that he can get it back from laundry. His ass hurts so he kneels to do it, Kev laughs at him, tells him he will have to sit for dinner, like it or not.

Greg looks at Jon, sitting on Danny's old bunk, staring at him. It's not my fault he wants to say. It's not my fault Danny's gone.

Except it is.

He sews his tags in his clothes so they'll come back to him.

He's not in processing, and that's all that matters.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day Five - Tuesday**

_The man is lashing him with a belt, he tries to get away but he's tied down and he can't move. The belt falls over and over and he cries out but no-one helps him. Finally he's released, then the man drags him over to a wire cage. He's shoved into it and the door is slammed shut. He grabs the bars and pleads to be let out but the man just laughs at him. It's cold in here, really cold and he shivers and shakes. The man leans down and stares in the cage. The man has dad's face. He tries to scream but he can't get breath, he's suffocating and the cage is getting smaller and smaller, it's crushing him..._

"Quiet! Shut up!"

He opens his eyes, Jon is crouched next to him, his hand clasped over Greg's mouth.

"If you keep yelling they'll come in and take you out, you don't want to go in the cage do you?" Jon whispers, tilting his head, indicating the camera in the corner.

Greg shakes his head, no he doesn't want to go in the cage, not ever again. He's breathing hard, his body is soaked with sweat. He's been plagued with nightmares since he was a child, it isn't surprising that he'd have one here.

Jon takes his hand away. Greg clamps down on any sound, although he is still panting. He looks around and he can see other eyes on him, he must have been yelling in his sleep and woken them up.

Jon quickly returns to his own bunk, keeping low. Greg stays awake, wondering if the guards are on their way. When they don't appear after a few minutes he relaxes, but he doesn't dare go to sleep again.

He's been lying on his front because his ass is still tender with the six cane strokes he received the day before. Mrs Foster has obviously had a lot of practice, each stroke is straight and close to the next, although not touching it. The skin hasn't broken but there is quite a bit of bruising there.

Deliberately he rolls over, so that his weight is pressing the marks into the rough sheet. A spike of pain goes through him, just enough to keep him awake.

* * *

At breakfast he has to sit on the hard wooden benches, sending pain through him from the welts on his backside. He hisses and flinches off the surface and feels a hard hand pressing him back down to the bench.

"You sit there, nice and still, boy, or I'll add another couple to the collection."

The kitchen supervisor is behind him, grinning. He looks around at the other slaves and sees them all smiling into their bowls. Obviously word had spread that 'Doctor Cuddy's boy' got caned yesterday. He remembers the open door in Mrs Foster's office, the sounds of people passing by in the hallway, anyone could have seen.

He forces himself to sit still, looks down at his bowl and concentrates on eating, ignoring the quiet heckling of the slaves around him.

He sees the man as he's leaving the canteen, making his way amongst the slaves, picking out one here and one there. When he focuses on a slave he stops them in place, runs his hands over their hair and then lifts their T-shirt up and writes something on their back with a marker. The slaves don't seem unduly worried by it, and he gives them all a friendly pat on the head as he dismisses them. It looks harmless but one summer, when he was a child, Greg had done some work on a farm and the farmer had marked beasts going to slaughter by the same method, writing on their backs. He tries to avoid the man but is called over.

He goes to him, trembling slightly, starts to kneel but the man holds him in place. He runs his hand over the new growth on Greg's head, and then feels the stubble on his chin. Greg hasn't had a shave for several days now and his beard has always grown quickly.

The man goes behind him and lifts his T-shirt, Greg can feel the marker on his skin.

"One-thirty today," the man says as he writes. Then he pats the back of Greg's head. "You're new. Who's your supervisor?"

"Doctor Cuddy, sir," he answers quietly.

"Well, tell her I'll make you look nice. Main stairs to basement, second door on the right."

The man runs his hands over his head again, giving him a pat and then moves on. Greg gathers that the man is a barber of some sort. He hopes that he won't be shaved all over again, just as the hair is beginning to grow back. He knows that Doctor Cuddy doesn't want his head shaved. He doesn't know how he'll tell this man that, or whether he'll listen.

He feels a brush against his shoulder as Kev passes him in the corridor.

"Move out of the way, some of us have to get to work. Groomer going to make you all nice and pretty for Doctor Cuddy?" Kev whispers as he passes, not looking back at Greg.

Greg ignores him, he doesn't care what Kev, or any of the other slaves, thinks. It seems that most of the people in the hospital, both slaves and employees, assume he's been bought to be a 'special slave' for Doctor Cuddy, and that's why she wants to dress him up. He knows that's not the case, he was bought to be a doctor in this hospital, not a sex toy.

A little voice inside him asks whether she couldn't have bought him to be both.

* * *

He kneels in Doctor Cuddy's office, head down, hands behind his back as she examines his notebook. He knows she won't be pleased. His notebook has only a few pages of writing in it and it's sloppy and unfinished. The clarity of thought he'd had only a couple of days ago has left him. After yesterday when he produced virtually nothing he tried to work this morning but it is difficult. Security have ordered him to kneel in front of the open door while he works so that they can 'monitor' him. Anyone passing by can see him, and he can see them. Most of them just walk on by but some notice him there and stare at him, and he waits with dread for them to enter.

"What on earth were you doing all day yesterday? Did anyone make you do anything else?Cleaning work, I mean, or that kind of labor? I know you went to exercise. Anything else?"

He stares at the floor, ashamed at his failure. "No, ma'am," he says.

"So you just sat in that office from four in the morning to six at night, and all you wrote was this?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says. He's used to being lectured for poor performance. He hasn't cared about it before, nobody has made him care. He's always shrugged it off and done what he wanted anyway. Now he cares desperately – he needs Doctor Cuddy to believe in him.

"Get up," she orders and he rises quickly to his feet, standing as submissively as possible, head bowed and shoulders hunched.

"You know this isn't the standard of work I expect from you. You're not a medical student here. You don't get to slack off for days and then ace a test or turn in a perfect paper. You don't get to make your abilities an excuse for laziness. You have to work hard and consistently. We own you. This hospital owns you. We're entitled to get our full value from you."

She had known him in medical school, and assumes he is doing the same thing here, just getting by, slacking off. He feels a brief moment of anger, he is putting in workdays that start at four in the morning and go to six in the evening with only an hour off for exercise and half an hour for breakfast and he wonders how many more hours she expects him to work. He keeps quiet, she is right that he has accomplished little the last couple of days and he desperately wants to succeed so he can take the place she has outlined for him.

He knows that it will be difficult for him to work well under the current circumstances, he thinks back to the day when he was locked in the office and how well he had worked then.

"Yes, ma'am," he gathers his courage to ask, "Ma'am, may this slave... please may I lock the door?"

"When you're inside? No, of course not. I told you that yesterday. Why would you want to?"

"People might come in and have lunch," he says quietly, knowing that she will not understand.

"Then tell them to leave. It's the Diagnostics office, you have a right to be there, and whoever's been using it as a lunch room certainly doesn't. Tell them to go, and tell them I said so. If they have a problem with that, they can take it up with me. You have to concentrate on your work."

He feels utter despair at her words. He can imagine the reaction of a free person if he should say that to them.

"Yes, ma'am," he says bleakly.

He decides to pass on the groomer's message about making him 'look nice' for Doctor Cuddy. He is curious as to what she will say. She seems undisturbed however merely admonishing him not to be late and not to slack off.

He leaves her office, clutching his notebook and returns to the second floor, sinking to the floor on his knees and pulling his books closer to him and tries to concentrate.

* * *

With a few minutes to go before his appointment he leaves the office, as he goes towards the stairs he hears a man come up behind him, a security guard. Stopping where he is he kneels.

"Where are you off to, boy? I have orders that you're to work in that office all day."

"Sir, I have an appointment with the groomer, sir."

The officer goes behind him and pulls his shirts out of his jeans, reading the time written there.

"Okay, be quick about it then boy, straight there and straight back. I know how long it takes a slave to get groomed."

"Yes, sir," he answers and makes his escape down the stairs.

He enters the small room and looks around. There are two reclining chairs, both with manacles hanging off the side. The groomer is working on a female slave in one of them. She is not restrained, but is completely naked. He hesitates, not sure of the procedure and the groomer notices him.

"Strip off then, boy. Don't want to get hair on your clothes do you? Don't be ashamed of that body of yours, nice and pretty it is."

He removes his clothing, folding it neatly and makes his way to the other chair, lying down in it uneasily.

"Does your supervisor want you shaved all over again?"

He looks down at the fine fuzz growing all his body and shakes his head.

"No, sir."

His bruised ass rubs against the surface of the chair and the manacles loom in his sight. This is too much like being back in the Center and being chained to a table and shaved all over. He had thought he had left all that behind, now it seems there are echoes of it everywhere he goes.

The groomer has finished the other slave and directs her to clean up the fallen hair. Greg notices him staring at the slave's ass and tenses.

The groomer turns his attention to Greg, he tells him to hold still and relax, patting him on the shoulder when he finishes shaving him. Then he looks at Greg's hair, tapping the clippers against his palm.

Greg thinks he is going to shave his head again and he quakes inside, Doctor Cuddy had been very firm on that point, he has to say something.

"Sir, Doctor Cuddy doesn't want my head shaved," he manages, hearing his voice tremble. The groomer pats him again and assures him he isn't going to shave his head. Then he dismisses him, telling him to clean up and get dressed.

Greg gets off the chair, finds the broom and sweeps up his fallen hair. The groomer pays no more attention to him and he is relieved to get his clothes back on and go back to his office. The security guard eyes him as he walks along the corridor, looks at his watch, but says nothing.

* * *

He is working in the office, finally starting to make progress on his paper when she comes in. She is by herself this time, already fishing a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket. She stops when she sees him, and then she shrugs. She turns around and closes the door.

"So you're here again, slave."

She settles herself in one of the chairs and gestures to him.

"Come on, boy, I need somewhere to put my feet."

He stays where he is, kneeling.

"Now, boy. I haven't got all day, you just crawl over here like a good little boy."

"Ma'am, I'm supposed to be working..."

"This again? You can bring your precious notebook."

She takes a cigarette out of the packet and Greg's stomach turns with nausea, he tenses up. Just the sight of the cigarette is making him feel sick to his stomach, how will it be if she lights it up?

"Ma'am - you need to leave. I'm working here. Doctor Cuddy says you need to leave and not bother me..."

She's across the room in a couple of strides and bringing her hand back she slaps his face, hard, rocking him back on his heels. She follows up with another blow.

He starts shaking, he knows he can't do anything but take the blows.

She's hauling off for a third time when the door opens and the security guard enters. He tells her to stop but she gets in that blow and then moves away. Greg inches over to the wall, and huddles there. He can feel that his lip is split and his face is stinging from the slaps.

The guard ignores him, except for a quick glance. He questions Sheila, encouraging her to make up a story to explain her hitting a slave. Greg knows that what she is saying is a lie, and he knows the security guard knows it too. The guard sends her on her way, telling her to find a different place to smoke. Greg relaxes slightly, at least she shouldn't bother him again.

"You got anything to say about that, boy?" the guard questions him after she leaves.

"I told her to leave," he explains "Doctor Cuddy told me to tell her to leave. There wasn't a ring." He looks at the guard, he knows the man didn't believe her story of looking for a lost ring. "You know there wasn't a ring."

The guard laughs at him. "You told her to leave? What's your name, boy?"

He's almost able to answer that question now without flashing back to the Center. Almost. "Greg," he says in a small voice.

"I hate paperwork, Greg. I work on this floor a lot, and if you cause me any more trouble, you're going to find out what happens to smart-ass slaves who get mouthy with me. Not with those little canes they use to whip your ass down in the basement. I'll ream you out, boy, I'll fuck the crap out of you. Got it?"

Greg stares at him, gulping nervously, he can tell this man means it, and he knows no-one would stop him. He wants to protest that he hasn't done anything, that it isn't his fault but he knows it will do no good, it never has before.

"Yes, sir," he whispers.

"If anyone asks about those bruises, you don't know who did it. You don't want to cause me any trouble, right?"

"No sir," he says.

"Now shut the fuck up and get on with your reading."

Once he's alone in the office, he goes back to his reading and tries to ignore the open door.

* * *

The rain is still pelting down when it is time for his exercise. He joins the other slaves in stripping off his clothes as usual and then hovers uncertainly. Surely they won't be expected to run around in this weather. Mr Johnson comes up and smacks him on his bruised ass, causing him to flinch with the pain.

"Get out there boy, little rain never hurt anyone." Johnson pauses, staring at him more closely. "What happened to your face, boy?"

"S..sir, n..nothing sir," he stammers, remembering the guard's threat.

"Hmm, looks like it. Go on then, go and run laps until the whistle blows."

He joins the others in slogging up and down the muddy field, after a day of heavy rain and the feet of all the other slaves it is very churned up and very boggy. He puts his head down and runs in silence. Mr Johnson lingers just inside the doorway and the exercise period consisted of one hour of solid running until the whistle is blown and, exhausted and splattered with mud, Greg comes to a stop along with the other slaves.

"Line up boys. Hoses today."

The other slaves form a rough line near the doorway and hold their arms in the air and spread their feet apart, Greg copies them and then watches as two men with a large hose approach. The men start at one end of the line and hose off the first slave, going head to toe so that the mud slides off the naked slave. He is then sent inside to shower and they turn to the next slave. Greg is last in line and when it is his turn he shivers in the cold blast from the hose, the men with the hose laugh as he turns around and they see his caned ass, they play the hose there and then make him turn around again so they can direct it at his genitals.

"That'll cool the boy down," one of them jokes with the other.

When they are finished hosing him off Johnson dismisses them and turns to Greg who is still shivering, standing alone on the field in the rain.

"Cold, boy?"

"Y..y..y..yes, sir."

"Well we'd better warm you up a bit then hadn't we? Go inside and wait for me at the benches."

"Sir, I need to go back to work..."

"I won't take long boy, now do what you're told."

"Yes, sir," he trudges back inside, still shivering and kneels over the bench.

Mr Johnson doesn't take long and he gives Greg a treat afterward and tells him what a good boy he is.

Greg sits back in his second floor office, the taste of the 'treat' Johnson had placed on his tongue still there. He has his 'smart' clothes back on again but they don't help him to feel more like a doctor. All they do is hide some of the marks on his body, the cane marks on his ass, the writing on his back. People can still see the collar around his throat, the bruises on his face. All the things that proclaimed that here is a slave, to be used and abused whenever a free person wants.

He looks again at the notebook, at his meandering writings in it. This is the way to gain back some respect from other people. He will write this paper, he will become a diagnostician, the very best there is, he would force them to see him as something other than a walking talking piece of machinery.

He rips out the pages he has written so far and scrunches them into a ball, to be thrown away.

Clearing his mind of everything else he starts fresh.

* * *

He lies on his front on his bunk while he writes, using his body to obscure what he is doing from the camera. He's not totally sure that he's allowed to have a pen and a notebook down here in the basement. Nobody has said that he _can't,_ but he hasn't seen any slaves with either writing materials or books since he's been here. To be on the safe side he'd put the pen in his pocket and shoved the notebook down inside his jeans, covered by his T-shirt when he'd left his office for dinner. There had been a bad moment when the security guard had looked at him but he hadn't been stopped.

Too bad he couldn't smuggle the books down here too but he doesn't need them at the moment. He's elaborating on his plans for a diagnostic department using examples he's come across in his practice of medicine. He'd been writing up a particularly interesting case where the patient had lied about having no pets (he'd actually had two dogs but lived in a 'no-pets' apartment so had lied to protect them), and was using that to illustrate his philosophy of 'everybody lies' when his alarm clock had told him it was time for dinner. Not wanting to stop, he'd grabbed the notebook and pen on impulse, hidden them and gone to dinner.

Now he has a quiet hour or so before showers and lights down and he is happily writing away.

A shadow falls across the page and he looks up, annoyed.

It is Jon. The slave who'd woken him up from his nightmare this morning. Greg is glad he did, before the guards had come in to haul him away to the cage for the night. He realizes what a risk Jon had taken for him, getting up from his bunk during the night. Greg had gotten up to help that girl who was in pain, and for his trouble he'd been chained up and thrown back into a cage in processing. And the girl had died. He fights back the memories desperately, he doesn't want that to overwhelm him again. Jon is interrupting his work, he doesn't want to deal with this, he just wants to write his paper.

He tells Jon to move, he's in his light.

"Well, fuck you too," Jon says, in his usual mild tone of voice. He moves off and Greg goes back to his writing. People had been telling him to fuck off all his life, Jon is just one more.

Kev is harder to get rid of, he crouches down and starts on about trading some of the paper for something or other that Greg doesn't need and doesn't want. He just wants them to leave him the hell alone so he can get on with this paper, he doesn't need any of them, he needs to get this done. This paper is part of his ticket out of the typical slave existence and into something resembling what he had had before. He has no interest in getting involved in whatever secret business they have going on down here.

He tells Kev no and then ignores him. After a while Kev moves off, going to sit on his bunk where he stares at Greg.

He pauses mid sentence and realizes what is going to happen, as soon as he goes to the shower, or whenever his back is turned Kev will steal the notebook. He has nowhere to hide it.

He sits up and stares at Kev.

"I need these notes," he says

"Do you?" Kev is smirking. "Writing something for Doctor Cuddy, are you?"

The words Doctor Cuddy start a plan in his head and he simply says 'yes' and then gets up and leaves the dorm, carrying the notebook and pen openly.

Kev follows him but he ignores him and goes straight to the security station, he's pretty sure Kev won't follow him there.

The door is open so he takes a step inside and sinks to his knees, holding the notebook and pen out.

There are a couple of guards there, sitting in chairs with their feet up, apparently bored. Greg averts his eyes from the empty cage and tries not to start shaking. He makes his voice as humble and placid as he can.

"Sir, this slave has this notebook and pen. This slave is writing a paper for Doctor Cuddy and has been working on it after dinner. There is nowhere safe to put them where the other slaves will not take them so this slave would like to leave them here for the night so they can be returned to Doctor Cuddy in the morning."

There is a silence when he has finished his little speech. The guards stare at him, apparently speechless for a moment.

One of them gets to his feet and grabs the notebook and pen, leafing through the notebook.

"What the fuck is all this writing? Did you write all this slave?"

"Sir, yes I did. It is some work I am doing for Doctor Cuddy."

"Well, you can't have stuff like this down on the dorms. No pens, paper or books."

"Sir, this slave did not know that, this slave was trying to complete this work for Doctor Cuddy."

The other guard laughs and gets up as well.

"It's not often the little bastards turn themselves in is it, George? Better make sure 'this slave' doesn't have anything else he shouldn't have."

George grins.

"Get up boy, and strip off."

Greg gets to his feet and quickly removes his clothing, although his hands are shaking on the buttons of his jeans. Once he is naked the guards order him to spread his legs wide apart and put his arms in the air, also spread wide.

George comes over and lifts his balls up, pretending to search underneath them.

"Nothing here Pete, these are pretty small, couldn't hide anything there anyway. Let's check the rest of his body." He runs his hands up and and down Greg's body, smacking his flesh at random intervals and pinching his nipples hard.

"Open your mouth, boy."

Greg opens his mouth.

"Wider than that, boy. Pretend you're going to suck Pete off, nice and wide."

Pete grabs his flashlight and shines it into Greg's mouth.

"Nope, nothing in here. Got something for you though, boy. You just keep that mouth open, nice and wide."

He turns away and comes back with a large gag which he proceeds to buckle onto Greg's mouth, propping his jaws apart.

"Okay, you can close your mouth now, boy."

They both laugh.

"Well, doesn't look like the slave has any other contraband."

"Not so fast, one place we haven't checked yet. Turn around, boy, spread your legs again, nice and wide and then bend over and grab your ankles."

Tensing in fear Greg does so, feeling horribly exposed in this position.

Pete runs his hand over the cane marks on Greg's backside, feeling each one.

"Looks like six, you have been a bad boy haven't you? I bet Mrs Foster enjoyed making you squeal." He brings his hand down in a hard smack right on the marks. Greg twitches and moans behind the gag.

"Keep position, boy. Got to check you, make sure you aren't hiding anything where you shouldn't be."

Greg hears the distinct sound of a latex glove behind pulled on and then feels a finger being inserted into him.

"Hear that this boy here is Doctor Cuddy's favorite She likes him to look pretty for her, gives him little treats, took the fucking slave shopping if you can believe that. See how she's had his body shaved? It's growing back, have to see the groomer soon about that soon, boy. I'm sure she wants you nice and smooth for her. "

"How about it, boy? Is she a good fuck?"

The finger is joined by another and the guard probes around inside him while they casually discuss him.

"What about it Pete, you want a go at him? He's nice and open, Johnson's probably had a go at him already, he likes to try out all the pretty new boys."

"Boy has to go get a shower in five minutes, we'll have him another time. Looks like he's one stupid fucking slave, walking in here like that. Has he got anything up his asshole?"

The fingers withdraw and he is slapped on his ass again.

"No, nothing up there this time. But now we know he deals with contraband we'll keep an eye on him, have to make sure he doesn't do it again. 'Course, he'll probably want his notebook back in the morning. Doesn't want to disappoint Dctor Cuddy, do you boy?" The guard smacks him again, this time on his inner thighs,"kneel down, boy."

Greg is relieved to get out of the awkward position, and that things haven't progressed any further and he goes to his knees.

"Spread your legs boy, nice and wide."

He does, and George stands between his legs and lifts his foot, pressing down on Greg's genitals.

Greg squirms and moans in pain behind the gag. George laughs.

"You don't talk very much, do you boy? Be a good thing if you kept it that way, if you take my meaning." He presses down a bit harder, as if for emphasis.

If Greg could talk he would tell them he has not intention of describing this humiliating scene to anyone, let along Doctor Cuddy. What would she think of her doctor now, if she could see him like this?

Pete roughly removes the gag. Greg's jaw is aching from the massive gag and his mouth is dry.

"Now, boy, we're just going to take this notebook for now. You can come and ask for it nicely in the morning."

"Y...y...y..y...es, sir," he manages to stammer out.

"Good, boy. Run along to the showers now, we'll see you in the morning."

George lifts his foot up and Greg gratefully squirms away before getting to his feet.

He hasn't been ordered to dress so he grabs his clothes off the ground and hurries out, holding them to him. When he gets to the dorm everyone has already left to go the showers so he dumps his clothes in his locker and makes his way there.

He sees Kev in the shower and lifts his chin defiantly. He has won this round, the cost was high but he won. He may not be able to do anything about the abuse of free people but he's not going to take it from another slave.

He tries not to think about what might happen tomorrow, when he has to collect his notebook again.


	7. Chapter 7

  
**Day 6 – Wednesday**

He is working on his paper after breakfast when a security guard comes into the office. He tenses, he's already had one encounter with security this morning when he'd retrieved his notebook and isn't eager to have any more. He kneels up and clasps his hands behind his back and waits, head down.

"Downstairs boy, Mrs Foster wants to see you straight away."

"Yes, sir."

He feels annoyance at another interruption to his work, he needs to get this done, Doctor Cuddy is expecting to see some real progress, he wants to show her that he can work hard.

He enters Mrs Foster's office quietly, sinks to his knees on the floor in front of her desk and waits for her attention.

"Who hit you?"

Her question takes him by surprise, he's almost forgotten the bruises on his face. He doesn't want to waste his time on this, he's got work to do.

"No one," he tells her briskly. "Ma'am, I have work to do for Doctor Cuddy, I need to go back to my office."

She narrows her eyes at him, tells him that he has bruises and a split lip. She asks if he hit himself.

"No one hit me," he repeats firmly.

"Ten lashes for self-harm," Mrs Foster says. She stands up. "I don't tolerate slaves lying to me, Greg. If you hit yourself, I need to hand you over to the security staff: they'll inform your supervisor and administer a judicial whipping. If you're lying to me about hitting yourself, two strokes of the cane."

Her statement is like a punch to his abdomen. Ten lashes for self harm. Not cane strokes, lashes. The caning had hurt, but he's seen a few public whippings and he doesn't want that. She'll also tell his supervisor, Doctor Cuddy and he _really_ doesn't want that. If she thinks he's too much trouble to keep she might send him back, or sell him on. Or she might come and watch him being whipped, and what will she think of him then?

His previous confidence has gone, he's reminded again that he's totally at the mercy of these people. She goes behind him to open the door, to go and get the security staff for his ten lashes.

"I didn't hit myself," he says quickly, his voice shaking.

"Good. Get up and bend over."

He gets up, with trembling fingers he drops his jeans and undershorts to his ankles. Bare ass he bends over the desk. The two cane strokes burn his already sore ass and his legs are shaking by the time he is ordered to kneel again. He goes to pull his up his pants but remembers he hasn't been ordered to do so. He kneels again, jeans and underwear around his ankles, genitals on display to her. His paper is forgotten, he's just a slave kneeling on an office floor.

She asks him again and he tells her, leaving out names, saying that he 'spoke back' to the maintenance worker, which he had, even if it had been at Doctor Cuddy's orders.

"Do any of your teeth hurt?" she asks. "Did she hit you anywhere else?"

He shakes his head, mutters a "no" to both questions, recognizing the intent behind them, she wants to find out of he is more seriously damaged than it appears.

"Then get back to work," she says.

He stumbles to his feet, pulls his pants back up and ducks his head. He remembers to thank her for caning him and then leaves. It's a long trudge back up to his office on the second floor.

* * *

At eight he reports to Doctor Cuddy's office, notebook in hand. He goes to his knees and holds it out. She takes it but then stares at him and asks him if he's been in a fight.

He shakes his head, no. It's the truth after all, he hasn't been in a fight.

Doctor Cuddy leafs through the notebook, stopping to read here and there. She seems pleased, he's done much better than yesterday. She tells him to keep the standard up, he has every intention of doing so, if people would just _leave him alone_.

She tells him to go and continue working, and then to deliver his notes to her secretary and then go downstairs and get changed into one of his rolltops and put on a labcoat, and be back here at quarter to one. He's not sure why, and he feels apprehensive about putting on garments that conceal his collar. He hopes no one in the basement sees him with them on, although there is very little chance of that.

She warns him 'not to get into any more fights' and dismisses him. As he goes back to his office he wonders how he's supposed to avoid it.

* * *

He leaves the second floor office in what he considers good time and takes the notes to her secretary as ordered, for her to type up, asking as humbly as possible. The secretary gives him her usual sour look but takes the notebook. She'd kept him waiting a couple of minutes before she 'noticed' him and allowed him to speak so he's running a bit late now. He trots down the four flights of stairs to the basement level, arriving back at the dorm breathless. He enters the bathroom for a quick splash of water on his face, staring at the bruises, not much he can do about those.

The dorm is deserted and he is undisturbed as he takes the rolltop and the white labcoat out of his locker. He used to avoid wearing his labcoat whenever possible in his old life, and has never been fond of rolltops either. Now, though, they represent a chance to conceal his collar, to appear as just another doctor.

He slips the rolltop over his T-shirt and smooths it down. He suspects that an outline of a collar could still be seen if one knew to look for it, but most people wouldn't be looking for it. The labcoat goes over top and he strides out of the dorm room into the corridor with confidence.

A security guard is coming from the opposite direction, the guard starts to nod at him, a friendly greeting to another free person - then his eyes narrow and his hand goes to the gun at his hip. Greg freezes in place

"Stop right there! Kneel down, put your arms in the air."

Greg kneels quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. He lifts his arms up high over his head.

"You're that new slave, Doctor Cuddy's boy, what the fuck are you doing with those clothes on?" The guard has his gun drawn now and more people are coming into the corridor from the offices either side, hearing his shout.

Mrs Foster comes up to them.

"What is going on here?"

"Slave trying to escape, Ma'am. He's hiding his collar."

Mrs Foster looks at him.

"Greg, did Doctor Cuddy tell you to wear those?"

He gulps and stammers out a 'yes, ma'am'.

"In future, you _will not_ wear them down here, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Get up and go back upstairs ."

He hurries off, all of his previous confidence gone again.

* * *

In her office Doctor Cuddy stops him from kneeling and inspects his clothing and appearance, she seems pleased. He's still shaken from the encounter down in the basement and is dismayed when she tells him she is going to have him meet a Nurse Previn, who is in charge of the free clinic. If Doctor Cuddy's plan is to work he will be spending a lot of his week under her control. He knows that it is important that he impresses her.

"I'm going to introduce you to Nurse Previn as 'Doctor Greg House'. I'm not going to tell Brenda you're a slave until after I've introduced you and explained about you working in the clinic. You need to act like a normal person. You'll sit on a chair, you won't kneel, you won't say 'yes ma'am' and 'no, ma'am'. She needs to realize that this can work, that the patients won't have to know that you're a slave."

He's nervous, after what happened in the basement he's pretty sure that it's some sort of major crime to conceal that you are a slave from free people. The collar seems to be burning his skin under the rolltop. He takes the chair she indicates, squirming as he sits down, his ass is incredibly tender after having eight cane strokes in a couple of days, not to mention his encounters with Mr Johnson and the security guards. He sits right on the edge, his whole body tense. It feels strange just to be sitting in a soft chair, he's become so used to kneeling on the ground, or sitting on a bench for dinner. He feels like he's doing the wrong thing. If it feels wrong to just sit on a chair how is it going to feel when he's treating patients again?

A lady enters the office a short time later, she smiles at Doctor Cuddy in greeting and then turns to him, her eyes are sharp as they look him over and he gulps, fearing she's seen straight through his flimsy disguise.

"Brenda, I'd like you to meet the doctor who'll be working in the free clinic with you, Doctor House."

It's strange to hear his name again like that, almost as if she's talking about someone else.

The nurse walks across the room and puts her hand out for him to shake.

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor House," she says.

This isn't right, he looks to Doctor Cuddy for reassurance and permission, she nods slightly and he shakes her hand, his grip tentative. How will she feel when she realizes she's shaken the hand of a slave? He fights the impulse to get out of the chair and resume his place on the floor.

Doctor Cuddy encourages him to tell the nurse his qualifications.

He starts out confidently, "I have a double specialty, Board certified in nephrology and infectious diseases. Doctor Cuddy bought me to run the Diagnostics department."

He stops abruptly, realizing what he said, and looks at Doctor Cuddy in fear.

Nurse Previn catches on quickly, looking from him to Doctor Cuddy in puzzlement.

"Lisa, you _bought_ him?"

Doctor Cuddy tells him to take off his lab coat and roll-top. He feels a little relief that he no longer has to pretend, but also sad that he is shedding these items and is now just a slave again. He's dismissed to go and get lunch from Doctor Cuddy's secretary.

When he returns the women have clearly been discussing him. Nurse Previn looks annoyed. She stares at him and then tells him to put his rolltop back on, as if the collar disgusts her. He complies quickly and then sits perched on the edge of a chair and is given a sandwich and permission to eat it. It's salad on wholewheat again and he is so tight with anxiety that he finds it hard to eat. This meeting has to go well, if he can't work in the clinic there will be a giant hole in Doctor Cuddy's plan for him, and maybe she'll decide he can't do diagnostics either. He'll be sent back to Mr Smith to face a lifetime of cleaning bathrooms...

It's an awkward lunch and Nurse Previn looks at him, an almost sympathetic expression on her face.

"Shouldn't he be kneeling?"

He realizes that she still regards him as a slave, not as 'Doctor House'. A slave who is obviously ill at ease doing something as ordinary as sitting in a chair having lunch.

They discuss him for a while, as if he's not sitting right there listening to them. Nurse Previn speaks plainly, clearly disagreeing with Cuddy that he can treat free people. Oh, he'd be okay to treat slaves, but not free people.

"How can anyone have any confidence in someone who lost control of their life completely and got collared?" she asks Doctor Cuddy, glancing at him again.

Doctor Cuddy looks shaken, unsure. She looks as if she's realizing that she made a major mistake and Nurse Previn has just pointed it out to her. Greg is frozen to the chair, he can't even eat his sandwich. Maybe they won't even let him clean the bathrooms, maybe he'll be sent back to the Center and they'll try and get a refund.

Nurse Previn looks at him. "You, get out," she snaps, her tone is one of someone who is sure of themselves, sure of obedience.

He gets up, puts his sandwich down and goes to leave. Then he stops, this might be his last chance. He's strung tight with anxiety, this is so important, this has to work. He fights the impulse to kneel, instead stands with his hands clasped behind him. He tries to tell them what he knows, but the words choke him and all that comes out is an incoherent stammer, he is pathetic.

Nurse Previn says 'what?' impatiently and he takes a deep breath, last chance he tells himself.

"Mr Smith has type two diabetes. You have toothache." The words come out crisp and clear that time, a doctor giving a diagnosis. It had taken him only a few seconds to realize Mr Smith's condition when he first met him, Nurse Previn had taken two bites of her sandwich before he realized what was wrong. When they question him, he explains how he knows these things, then he adds;

"I can do what Doctor Cuddy wants."

He's talking to himself as much as them, he knows it's true now. He _can_ do this. He's a shattered mess but his medical skills are still there, still sharp.

* * *

He's back in the office and kneeling on the floor, with his notebook propped up on a chair in front of him. The words are flowing easily again and his paper is taking shape. He can _see_ how the diagnostics department is going to operate now. Can see how they'll take an inter-disciplinary approach to a patient's condition. He's sketched up a couple of flow-charts of the diagnostic process and added some tables of common diagnostic tools, showing how they can be adapted to a much broader range of cases.

He realizes that the time when he's supposed to go to exercise has come and gone but Doctor Cuddy's orders were that he was not to leave the office for any reason so he stays, happily working on his paper.

He's so intent on his work that he doesn't hear the person enter the office, the snick of the door being closed is the first he's aware of it. He's against a wall and he cringes against it as he looks up. He pushes his notebook behind him and it takes a moment to register that his visitor is not a person here to cause him harm, it's Doctor Cuddy. He's in a huddle by the wall so he uncurls himself and goes to kneel. Then he remembers Doctor Cuddy's words about 'acting normal' and not kneeling all the time. So he gets to his feet instead, still placing his hands behind his back and ducking his head.

"Doctor Cuddy," he says, respectfully.

He's ready to drop to his knees the second she orders it but she doesn't. Instead she tells him to sit so he automatically drops to the floor. When she shakes her head and tells him to sit on a chair he does, perching on the very edge uncomfortably, his ass is so bruised and sore it's a lot easier to kneel.

She wants to know what happened to his face, and he tells her he answered back. She drags the full story out of him, including that he told the maintenance worker to leave, on Doctor Cuddy's orders. Just thinking of the cigarettes again brings up a wave of nausea, he doesn't tell her about those but she figures it out anyway, he doesn't tell her that the worker wanted to use her new diagnostics doctor as a footstool, as she had done before.

He can't help shifting in pain on the chair and she realizes that something is wrong.

"Get up, drop your jeans and turn around."

He gets to his feet, turns around and pushes his jeans down around his knees, there is silence and she sighs impatiently and he reluctantly pushes his underwear down as well. He feels extremely exposed, standing in front of her, bare ass exposed to her. He knows that there are eight very vivid cane marks across it.

She doesn't say anything for a long moment and he hangs his head, feeling the marks across his backside burning into him, branding him as a troublemaker slave, one who has to be punished to behave.

When she speaks again her voice is stern, her tone impassive.

"Pull up your jeans, you can kneel. What were you punished for?"

He pulls his clothes back up, hiding the marks and turns and kneels in front of her and recites the incidents that led to the cane strokes. Two for each offense

She says nothing more about the punishments, just glances at the clock.

Even though it's well after four she tells him to go do his exercise and apologize on her behalf to Mr Johnson for being late. He's to exercise until five.

Once again he tries to get her permission to miss exercise but she won't hear his protests. He goes off to 'exercise', dragging his feet as he goes down the stairs to the basement.

* * *

Mr Johnson is not happy to see him so late, there are only a few slaves left and they have clearly been here for a while, their bodies splattered with mud. Greg kneels on the muddy ground, naked again.

"You're over an hour late, boy."

""Sir, Doctor Cuddy said to tell you that I was working late on her authority and that I should tell you that she's sorry that this slave is late and can I do my exercise until five. Doctor Cuddy said to ring her if there is a problem with this."

Mr Johnson taps the cane he is holding against the ground and Greg holds his breath, he doesn't want yet another caning today. Mr Johnson looks in the direction of the other slaves and seems to make up his mind.

"Well, if Doctor Cuddy said you are to exercise until five you had better do it then boy. I will set some special exercises for you."

Mr Johnson points to the row of hurdles.

"You can hurdle those in one direction, and then when you come back you can crawl under them on your belly, I don't want to see you on your hands and knees, I want to see your stomach on the ground. Then you can hurdle them going back. You can repeat that until ten minutes before five and then grab a hose and hose yourself off, clean the hurdles off and put them back in the equipment shed. You understand that, boy?"

Greg gulps, the ground is very muddy and it will be a long crawl from one end to the other.

"Yes, sir."

"Then get your ass moving, boy."

He easily runs the hurdles the first time but it is a long hard trip back on his belly, and going over the hurdles a second time is a lot harder.

When he is on his fifth or sixth crawl back under the hurdles he is exhausted, he looks around and notices that all the other slaves have gone back inside to the showers and Mr Johnson is nowhere in sight. After one more trip over the hurdles it is time to clean up and he spends a few minutes hosing off the hurdles and replacing them in the equipment shed.

When he has hosed himself off sufficiently he is shaking and shivering with cold and he goes inside, he hopes that it is late enough that Mr Johnson will be wanting to leave, and not be interested in using him today.

When he passes the benches outside the shower he freezes.

Mr Johnson is fucking another male slave on the benches. The slave is bent over the bench so Greg can't see his face but he can hear soft whimpers and Mr Johnson is petting him, stroking him and telling him it will be okay.

Is this how it looks when Mr Johnson fucks him? Every instinct he has tells him to intervene, to pull Mr Johnson off the helpless slave. That is what he would have done only three months ago, when he was free. Now he knows Mr Johnson has every right to use the slave.

He can't help making an inarticulate, strangled sound as he watches and Mr Johnson turns his head and sees him.

"Get in the shower, boy. Move!"

He moves, going into the large communal shower and turning the water on as high as he can to blot out the sound of the slave's whimpers and Mr Johnson's grunts as he fucks him. He sinks to his knees and lets the water run over him, hiding the tears that roll down his cheeks.

The water cuts off automatically after a few minutes and he steps out, drying himself off. He wants to stay here, to not go back out there but he knows he can't. He doesn't hear anything any more, maybe they are gone.

They are still there, he gathers his clothes from the bench and gets dressed, trying to ignore the sight of the slave on his knees with Mr Johnson placing a chocolate on his tongue and telling him he is a good boy.

The other slave looks up and sees him, Greg doesn't recognize him, he must be from one of the other dorms. He drops his gaze.

Mr Johnson dismisses the other slave and Greg goes to leave as well.

"You'll be on time tomorrow, boy."

Greg looks at him and whispers.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, run along then, boy."

He goes, not back to the office but back to the dorm. He goes in and lies on the bunk, face down. Most of the other slaves are back in the dorm but they ignore him. When the signal is played for dinner he doesn't get up.

"You have to go, if you don't go it gets worse." Jon stops by his bunk on the way out the door.

"I can't live like this."

"You have to," Jon tells him bluntly. "If you don't go they'll come and get you. You'll be eating slave chow for a week and you'll be caned, she'll give you six for that. Either way you'll be eating dinner."

Jon leaves and Greg gets up. He goes to dinner. One more day nearly over.


	8. Chapter 8

**Day Seven – Thursday**

Greg likes to start every morning in his office by going over to the window and looking out over the campus. It's dark at that hour so he can't see much but there are some lights on in buildings, and the headlights of the cars going past. Out there is the world, a world that is continuing without him. His horizons are so limited now. He hasn't read a newspaper or seen a television since he was enslaved. He has no idea what is happening, in politics, in sports, to his former friends, not that there were many of them. He wonders sometimes if he will ever see his mother again. Maybe, if he works hard, if he impresses the hospital, maybe one day they will grant him some freedoms again. Maybe one day they will even free him.

He can't stay long at the window, there are few people around in the hospital at this time of day so the security staff are bored, and the one assigned to this floor likes to walk past regularly, to check that he is working. Sometimes he comes in, to 'inspect' him, to make sure he has nothing he shouldn't. Greg has to strip off all his clothes and kneel naked while the guard rifles through them, and then runs his hands all over Greg. The guard hasn't gone any further yet. Greg wonders if his status as 'Doctor Cuddy's favorite' has made them wary, it doesn't seem to deter Mr Johnson but he is in the basement far removed from normal hospital politics, Greg doubts that Doctor Cuddy even knows his name.

He kneels in front of the chair and starts to work. His ass is a little less sore today but kneeling is still more comfortable. He keeps a wary eye on the door and settles down to his writing, he is close to finishing this paper, he hopes that Doctor Cuddy will be impressed when he shows her what he has done.

The guard walks past a couple of times, checking to make sure he is in sight but doesn't come in today for which Greg is grateful.

* * *

Kev sits opposite him at breakfast, there's fruit on the hot cereal today and Greg is concentrating on his food and trying to ignore Kev's angry stare. He's not interested in continuing some sort of feud with the man, who has clearly taken a dislike to him.

"Better eat all that, keep up your strength pretty boy. Must be hard work, sitting around reading all those books all day." Kev talks in a soft tone, to escape the notice of the canteen supervisor. Greg ignores him.

"Hey, pretty boy, I was talking to you."

Jon is looking at them both uneasily and the other slaves are beginning to edge away.

"At least I _can_ read," Greg mutters back. He realizes it is the wrong thing to say immediately, even Jon glares at him. The supervisor is staring at them and they all focus back on their bowls. As Greg leaves the canteen he is jostled by a couple of the slaves, not hard enough to attract attention. He hurries away, intent on getting up the stairs as quickly as he can.

"Hey boy, where you going in such a hurry. Let's have a look at you." It's the groomer again. He inspects Greg's stubble and writes a time on his back. "Just a shave, boy. Tell your supervisor two o'clock." He pats Greg on the head and goes on his way.

Greg sighs, he didn't much enjoy the grooming experience the first time, but it looks like he'd better get used to it. He wonders if slaves are allowed to have permanent stubble.

At ten minutes to eight he picks up his notebook and makes his way up to Doctor Cuddy's office. She's not in yet so he hovers uncertainly, she's always been here before. He can't just stand around drawing attention to himself so he kneels down outside her office, near the wall.

She doesn't arrive for half an hour, and when she does come in she's in a rush, obviously running late for something. She looks startled to see him outside the office and waves him away.

"Not now, Greg. I have a meeting to get to across town. I won't be back today. Just keep working, don't forget to go to exercise."

"Yes ma'am, I just wanted to show you..." he holds out the notebook but she brushes it aside.

"I said not now Greg, run along back to the office."

She brushes past him and into her office, shutting the door behind her.

He gets to his feet and makes his way back down the hallway. Doctor Cuddy's secretary is there, talking to another lady. Both women look at him as he passes and he respectfully lowers his gaze. Their laughter follows him down the hallway.

He's done another few hours of writing when the furniture comes. He's startled when they come in the door, two men with trolleys and plastic wrapped furniture. The security guard is with them and he frowns at Greg.

"Pick up the books and stay in the corner out of the way, boy," he points to one corner of the office. Greg gets up and goes to the corner, kneeling again.

The guard disappears and the men start taking the plastic wrap off the furniture. They consult a floor plan and move it into position. As they work they talk about the game last night. At one time Greg would have been keen to hear news about the latest baseball scores, or who was on the transfer list, now it seems totally irrelevant to him. He used to wager thousands on who would hit the most home runs in a season, now he doesn't even know who's leading.

The men work quickly, making another trip and coming back with some more. When they are finished they tick off their list.

"I'll just go and find someone to sign off on this," the older man says, stuffing the list back in his pocket and disappearing down the hallway. "There's never anyone around when you need them."

The guard comes back, checks the list and looks at the furniture. He signs the delivery papers and the men leave.

"Get back to 'work', boy and you stay off that furniture. That's for people to use," the guard says to Greg and then leaves.

Greg looks at 'his' office. Now there are a couple of comfortable chairs, two desks, a filing cabinet, some shelves and even a little coffee maker. There's a couple of 'visitor' chairs.

He knows that Doctor Cuddy would let him sit on one of the chairs and use the desk, after all, it's for him, and she wants him to act like a doctor, not a slave. But she's not here today, and even if she was she's not on the second floor and he is, and the security guard is. He kneels in front of one of the visitor chairs and uses the top of it as a desk.

It's not until later that he realizes that he hadn't noticed that the delivery guys hadn't said one word to him, hadn't even acknowledged his presence. To them he'd been just another piece of furniture, and he hadn't even noticed that.

It was like he expected to be treated that way.

* * *

Greg has a 'bathroom break' around mid morning, he's already done five or six hours of writing today and he's beginning to flag. The bathroom is, at least, a change of scenery. As always he enters quietly and uses a stall so as not to disturb the free people with his presence. When he emerges he freezes. A slave is wiping down a sink, when the slave looks up at him he realizes that it's Kev.

Kev is in his stained work clothes, it's Thursday so the clothes are a pretty poor state by now and Kev is looking sweaty and tired. Greg calculates that he's probably done about twenty bathrooms by this time of day and there are still many hours to go.

Kev glances at the stall doors, there's no one else here at the moment.

"Well, if isn't fancy boy. Working hard are you?"

Greg goes to the other sink and proceeds to wash his hands, ignoring Kev.

"Too good to talk to me, boy? Just because you've got smart clothes and a cushy job doesn't make you any better than me. You've got a collar 'round your neck same as all of us. And Johnson screws you, just like he screws all the pretty new boys."

Greg goes to the door and Kev blocks his way.

"I need to get back to my office," Greg says impatiently, "I have work to do."

"Your office?"

They hear the sound of the door knob turning and Kev immediately turns back to his cleaning. It's one of the office staff on this floor coming in and Greg stands out of the way as the man enters, and makes good his escape while he can.

A few minutes later he's working away in his office when he sees Kev walking past quietly with his cleaning gear. The slave looks in as he passes and his eyes narrow in anger at the sight of Greg kneeling on the floor reading a book.

As the groomer shaves him he chatters away in what Greg assumes is meant to a soothing tone. When he's finished he steps back and looks at Greg.

"Those are some nasty bruises, boy. Somebody been hitting you?"

"Yes, sir," Greg answers. He's not saying 'no' again, in case it's a trap.

"Mrs Foster know?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy, you tell her if you have any trouble, she'll treat you right. You're Doctor Cuddy's boy aren't you?"

 _No, I'm a doctor with two specialties and I'm going to be in charge of the diagnostics department, and work in the free clinic,_ Greg thinks.

"Doctor Cuddy is my supervisor, sir," he answers more diplomatically.

"Well, you look nice and pretty again, except for those bruises. Your hair is growing back well too, you should have some nice curls when that comes through, she'll like that. Okay boy, clean up and off you go. You come back next Tuesday and we'll keep you looking good for her."

It's not raining today and the sun's out. It's good to feel the sun on his skin again. Mr Johnson has them all doing callisthenics today. He does a demonstration of the exercise he wants them to do and they all follow. As they perform each exercise Mr Johnson walks amongst them, he has a strap in his hand and gives a quick slap to an ass, or back, here and there to encourage a slave to perform harder. Greg is reminded uneasily of his time in the Center, with the outdoor exercises there, they're even naked like they were at the Center.

When the exercise period is over Greg tries to mingle with the other slaves and escape notice but he's pulled over by Mr Johnson.

"You can help me with clean up again today, boy."

Mr Johnson has discovered that he can make Greg come when he screws him, it seems to please him. As Greg comes all over the floor he praises him.

"Good boy, you like that don't you? Feels good doesn't it? "

He pets Greg's back and shoulders, strokes his hair and thrusts deeply into him, emptying himself into Greg's body. As he pulls out Greg feels semen trickling down his thighs.

Mr Johnson lets him go to the shower and then has him come back and kneel down in front of him and open his mouth.

He gives him two squares of chocolate today.

"A nice treat for you today boy, you were very good," he praises as Greg eats the chocolate.

When Greg goes to the bathroom on the way back to his office he throws up the chocolate. He rinses out his mouth using water from the tap and washes his face. When he stares in the mirror Greg the obedient, respectful slave stares back at him.

* * *

He stays in the office as late as he can, there's nothing for him down in the basement. It's nearly six by the time he leaves. He trots down the stairs quickly, stopping when he hears a soft voice behind him, telling him it doesn't matter if he's late.

He turns and looks at her, she's older than him, in her fifties he would judge. He's seen her around in the basement and heard somebody refer to her once as 'the Peach', he has no idea why.

He doesn't know why she's sticking her nose in his business, going on about maybe his supervisor made him stay late. She knows his supervisor is Doctor Cuddy, Greg sometimes wonder if there's a note to that effect on every noticeboard in this hospital. She says that Doctor Cuddy might have kept him late at work.

He's not sure if she's trying to imply that Doctor Cuddy was 'using' him, much as Mr Johnson kept him late, or if she's trying to give him an excuse for being late for dinner. Either way he doesn't like the implication. If people keep on like this Doctor Cuddy might realize what everyone is thinking and decide that she can't work closely with Greg any more. He thinks of her casual brush off this morning and squashes that thought down.

"I saw Doctor Cuddy this morning at eight," he tells the nosy slave firmly, "I don't see her again till tomorrow morning."

Then he turns his back on her and continues running down the stairs.

After dinner he goes back to the dorm as he has nowhere else to go. He knows the other slaves disperse through the basement, maybe the hospital, he's not sure. They have various trading and smuggling schemes going on. He tells himself firmly that he doesn't want to be part of that life. He doesn't need any of them.

After they shower they all return to the dorm and lie naked between the sheets. The door is closed and locked, the lights go down.

As he falls asleep he realizes that he's now completed a full week here at the hospital, his first full working week as a slave. He wonders how many more there will be.


	9. Chapter 9

**Day 8 – Friday**

When the phone rings for the first time Greg stares at it, not sure what to do. It's been a good morning so far. Coming into his office this morning had been a little like starting work in the days _before._ He'd unlocked the door to _his_ office, and looked around at its cluttered interior; desks and chairs, filing cabinets, all the normal things in an office. He'd examined the coffee maker and wondered if Doctor Cuddy would have that stocked with coffee and things for the fellow who was going to work in here. His mind had shied away from the idea of the fellow. He didn't know how he was supposed to be someone's boss when that person was free and he was not. How would he get an employee to respect him and follow his orders when they could literally order Greg to do anything they wanted?

The phone is still ringing and he puts a hand out to it tentatively, there is a noise in the hallway and he quickly withdraws his hand, kneeling back. The phone stops ringing. He looks at the door, no one is there, false alarm.

The next time the phone rings he answers it before he can stop himself. This is his office after all, of course he can answer the phone.

It's Nurse Previn on the other end, ringing for him, so he's done the right thing answering the phone. She asks him what he is working on and he passes on the orders Doctor Cuddy had given him in their morning meeting, finish off the paper and hand it in for typing by ten. He is nearly done now, he knows he could get it done in time.

She instructs him to get his rolltop and white coat and bring them up to his office after he's passed the paper to Doctor Cuddy's secretary. He answers 'yes ma'am' smartly and hangs up the phone.

He wonders why she wants him to do that, the last time he'd seen her she was ordering him out of Doctor Cuddy's office, and had seemed extremely doubtful about his working in the clinic.

As he hangs up the phone the security guard assigned to this floor looms in the doorway. Greg quickly slips into the correct position and hangs his head.

"You boy, what were you doing with the phone?"

He looks up.

"Sir, it rang so I answered it sir, it was Nurse Previn with further orders for me."

The security guard scratches his head.

"Slaves aren't supposed to use phones, unless they need it for their work."

"Sir, Doctor Cuddy ordered the phone for this office, where I am working. She needs a way to contact me, sir."

The guard frowns again.

"I'll be checking your story out, boy. Now, strip off, time for an inspection."

The guard turns behind him and shuts the door.

Greg obediently strips his clothes off, he's allowed time in his schedule for such an interruption. He'll still get his paper done by ten.

* * *

Greg answers the phone more confidently the next time it rings.

"Diagnostics department, Greg speaking."

There is a pause on the other end before Nurse Previn begins speaking.

"Greg, did you get your rolltop and labcoat okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, when I hang up, put them on. I'm going to bring some doctors and nurses to the office, you'll be working with them tomorrow in the clinic."

Greg gulps.

"In the clinic ma'am?"

"Yes, I want you to start there tomorrow. You can't see patients of course but you can do some clerical work and get a feel for the place. You need to meet these doctors and nurses so they can get used to the idea. This isn't going to be easy on anyone Greg, you do realize that? I've never heard of a slave working as a doctor before, and they won't have either."

"Yes, ma'am."

"That's another thing, when I bring these people to your office you are not to kneel, you are not to say 'yes ma'am' and 'no ma'am' , do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am, " he answers and hears her sigh. "Yes, Nurse Previn," he corrects himself.

"Okay, put on your rolltop and labcoat, we'll be there in a few minutes."

"Yes, Nurse Previn."

After he hangs up he gets his clothes on and then goes to kneel back on the ground, ready. Instead he looks at one of the chairs, pulled up behind a desk. Nervously he takes a seat, piling his books and notebook on the top of the desk. He thinks that Nurse Previn won't be pleased if she comes in and sees him kneeling on the floor. This will be better. As long as the guard doesn't come by.

He is excited by the idea of working in the clinic tomorrow. He'd thought that he'd blown the 'job interview' on Wednesday but it looks like those plans are going ahead. He's nervous about meeting the people Nurse Previn is bringing to the office though. He remembers how unimpressed Nurse Previn was when she met him, and she is apparently a friend of Doctor Cuddy, what will these people think of him?

They come in the door in a large bunch, filling the small office. He slides his chair back so his back is against the wall but with an effort he stops himself kneeling, although every instinct tells him to. A man closes the door and he tenses, bad things happen when the door is shut. Nurse Previn looks at him and tells him to stand up. She uses the name 'Doctor House' and despite his nervousness he feels a thrill of pleasure at the title.

He jumps to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back, and looks at them all, going from person to person, nine in all. They're all staring at him, wondering who he is. He fights the urge to duck his head.

Brenda orders him to take his rolltop and labcoat off and he quickly obeys, he's glad he doesn't have to hide what he is any longer. The longer it is hidden from these people the angrier they will be.

The people look puzzled, one or two look angry. They want to know what this is about. He gulps nervously and inches back towards the wall.

Brenda explains, he's been brought to run diagnostics and treat patients in the free clinic, four hours a day, seven days a week.

They all start talking at once, some of them are yelling, they all appear angry now. They're outraged at the thought of working with him.

Greg starts shaking, he wants to sink to his knees, to present a smaller target for their anger. How is he going to work with these people? Nurse Previn notices his discomfort and quietly orders him to sit, he collapses in the chair thankfully.

Nurse Previn tells them all to quiet down and they do so, they are all still glaring at him, a couple of the men have moved closer to his desk, their arms folded across their bodies. He tries to sit straight and still and keep his face impassive but it is hard.

They talk about him as if he is not there.

"If you object to working with a slave, you don't have to," Nurse Previn is saying, "Everyone who works in the free clinic is a volunteer, except for me. And Greg," she adds.

The crowd of people laugh, looking at him, taking in his slave status. He ducks his head. Some of the anger seems to leave the room, perhaps they realize that he is nothing, not even worthy of their concern. Maybe they are thinking that it might be interesting to have a slave around, he wonders if there are any 'Mr Johnson's' amongst them.

One of the men closest to his desk leans on it, and then looks at him, calculation on his face.

Nurse Previn continues talking to the people, "tomorrow, Greg isn't going to be doing anything more than any clerical worker would do. He doesn't have a license and he isn't going to be seeing any patients. You don't have to call him 'Doctor House'."

The man leaning on his desk laughs and says that would never happen anyway.

Nurse Previn shakes her head, tells them that they will have to, and that she expects them not to talk about his status outside of the hospital.

One phrase she uses catches his attention.

"Greg is a very valuable piece of hospital equipment."

It still hurts to hear himself referred to as a piece of equipment, he hopes that after a while, when he has proved his worth, they may come to see him as more than that.

They might come to see him as a doctor, and a fellow human being.

* * *

At a few minutes to four he takes his proofread paper back to Doctor Cuddy's secretary. She had missed a few things, and incorrectly typed some others, he has notes written all over the paper, as well as some additional pieces to clarify some sections.

He kneels before her desk and waits the usual few minutes before she decides to notice him.

"Well, boy. What is it now?"

"Ma'am, this is the corrected paper," he holds it out and she snatches it from his grasp, flipping through it.

"This is a mess, boy. I can't read this. Can't you even write neatly? It's bad enough I have to type up the scribblings of a slave, I don't have time to figure out your hieroglyphics, Doctor Cuddy wants this done and distributed by five o'clock."

"Sorry, ma'am."

"So you should be, boy. You can stay there while I type this so I can ask you questions if I have to."

"Yes, ma'am." Greg bows his head. "This slave will need permission from Doctor Cuddy to stay."

"Oh...for Christ's sake, do you need her permission to pee as well? Move over there, so you're not cluttering up the hallway and I'll go and see her. Keep your hands behind your back and don't touch anything."

As she storms up the hallway Greg moves where she's pointed and looks at the floor. When Doctor Cuddy has ordered him to work until four he'd been pleased as that would mean he missed his 'exercise' time. Now, if he has to stay here, she won't be able to send him to do it late (which would virtually guarantee that Mr Johnson would want him for 'clean up') If anyone should ask him about missing exercise he need only say that "Doctor Cuddy asked me to stay late'.

When the secretary returns she has him kneel at her feet while she works. It isn't pleasant working with the secretary, her resentment at having to type up notes made by a slave is made very clear to him. Every question she asks him is peppered with insults and contempt.

She is quick though and the copies are done in time. He stays kneeling by her desk while she goes in to give them to Doctor Cuddy. When she returns she sits herself back down at her desk and looks at him.

"Doctor Cuddy wants to see you at five minutes till five in her office. Go and kneel in the corner over there until it's time, so you're out of everyone's way."

"Yes, m'am," he replies obediently and goes and kneels in the corner, next to a potted plant.

He waits for the appointed time, hoping that Doctor Cuddy will be pleased with his work. He knows the paper he wrote is good, revolutionary even. It had become so clear and obvious when he wrote the paper, how a Diagnostics department should function, what it could do. He hadn't realized until he was writing the paper that this is what he should have been doing with his career, he'd been bored in infectious diseases and then nephrology. Solving medical puzzles would be challenging, fulfilling, in a way that his previous positions hadn't been. He only wishes that he had come to this conclusion on his own, _before_ he had been enslaved. The excesses of his previous lifestyle had dulled his mind, distracted him, and now it is too late to correct those errors by himself, now he is the property of this hospital. He feels the familiar slow burn of anger at himself for his stupidity, he has paid a high price for his foolishness.

When he goes into the office Doctor Cuddy has the balcony doors open.

"Come on out here, Greg," she says.

He obediently goes outside, blinking in the sudden sunlight, he's never been out here before, has never even seen the doors open. He thinks she mustn't use the balcony much and wonders why.

She orders him to bring a chair into the sun and sit down. He does so, feeling uneasy at this change of routine.

"I'm very pleased by your work this week. You turned in an excellent paper."

It's like a parent praising a child who's just done something unexpectedly well but despite himself he's pleased with her praise. It's important to keep on impressing her.

"Thank you, ma'am," he answers.

"Nurse Previn tells me you behaved quite well in front of the clinic staff when she introduced you to them. Keep that up. When you're working in the clinic, when you're functioning as a doctor, you should be able to ask and answer necessary medical questions."

"Thank you, ma'am," he says again, wondering if he's going to be rewarded with some sort of treat for his good behavior

"But today, you managed to avoid going to your exercise session - again. And I know what you meant to say to Mrs Foster when she asked you why you hadn't gone. 'Doctor Cuddy said I had to work', right?"

She's seen through his ploy, he gulps nervously and ducks his head.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"I apologized to Matthew Johnson for your missing your exercise session today. You're out here on this balcony, not as a reward, but because we're required to let you be outdoors for an hour for your own good. You will go back in at five of six, and go directly to the canteen for your evening meal. Here's your punishment - except for your work in the clinic on Saturday, when you'll be under Nurse Previn's supervision for whatever hours she's set for you, from now until you report to me at eight sharp on Monday morning, your schedule and duties are to be whatever the weekend's overseer sets for you."

The clinic shift will only last eight hours at the most he thinks, so there'll be hours of other work to do. His heart sinks, that means cleaning bathrooms, that means more time with the other slaves who are making it clear that they hate him, that means attending exercise. He has begun to think of himself as a cut above the other slaves, it's clear that she doesn't.

"Did you lock the diagnostics office when you left it?" she asks and he says yes.

"Give me the key," she says, holding her hand out for it.

He takes it reluctantly out of his pocket. She'd given it to him, said it was the key to _his_ office, now, just like that, she can take it back. He looks at it glumly, dismayed at losing access to his office for the weekend, and realizing that it will never really be _his_ office, it's just the place he's assigned to work. It's no more his office than the filing cabinet's office - his name will never be on the door.

"I'll let you have it back on Monday morning. Don't be late."

"No, ma'am," he answers glumly.

"Work hard. Don't let me hear any bad reports of your work, from Nurse Previn or from anyone else."

She leaves him then, without another word, sitting alone on the balcony, as she goes back into her office he hears the door lock, he won't be able to leave the balcony until someone, presumably security, decide to come for him. After a few minutes he looks inside the office and she's gone. Home for the weekend, back to her family, if she has one.

He thinks about what has happened. For all her talk about his not being wasted on cleaning duties, and that she's bought him to function as a doctor, she's just ensured that his weekend will be full of cleaning. He will have to wear the ragged cleaning clothes that mark him as a slave, he'll have to wipe down urinals and sinks, clean mess off floors, slink around the hospital with his cleaning kit like a mouse, hoping not to be noticed. When he goes to the second floor it won't be to go into his office, but to clean the bathroom. When the other doctors, and the nurses, are finished with their shift in the clinic they'll go home, he'll go to the basement to start his next shift of work. When he's finished work he'll be fed and given water and then locked into a small room for eight hours, to be taken out again the next morning for another day's work.

He realizes that as his supervisor Doctor Cuddy can order him to do anything she wants, for any reason, on any whim she has. As easily as she grants him privileges she can take them away. He'd hoped to be regarded as something more than a slave here, to earn a position of respect but to these free people he's a slave, he'll always be a slave, subject to their whims, and worthy of less respect than their pet dogs.

She's locked him out here on the balcony, left him to sit in the sun, much like she might do with the plant in the hallway.

He goes to the rail of the balcony and stares out. He can see a jogging track from here.

He watches the free people jogging around the campus grounds and imagines.


	10. Chapter 10

**Day 9 - Saturday**

When he gets out of bed he almost forgets and pulls on his 'office' clothes, instead he reluctantly puts on his 'cleaning' clothes and shoes. When he'd returned to the basement last night he'd been called into the night supervisors office and given his instructions for today. He is to clean bathrooms until 7.30, breaking for breakfast as normal, when he is to report back to the supervisor on duty before showering and changing into his other clothes. The supervisor had warned him he was to work hard all day or he would regret it. They would be watching him, Doctor Cuddy had set him the cleaning as punishment detail and he wasn't to forget it.

He joins Jon and the others in the slow trudge to the place where they pick up their cleaning kits. When it is his turn he takes his, thanks the supervisor and goes to turn away.

"Need a starter, big boy?" the supervisor asks and he stops, startled. He has no idea what the correct response is, or indeed what the supervisor is asking. He hesitantly stammers out a 'yes, sir?' and the man leers at him.

"Take down your pants and bend over, big boy, I'll give you that starter right on your cheeks!"

The supervisor laughs and Greg sees Jon smiling in the line behind him. He stands still, frozen, not sure what this means, whether he is meant to do what the supervisor says or whether it is supposed to be a joke.

The supervisor stops laughing and barks at him to 'move it!', that they're going to see that he works all day.

He moves off, shaken and uncertain.

* * *

His morning is a misery. He moves from bathroom to bathroom as quickly as he can, doing a thorough job of the cleaning, until his clothes are splashed and stained. It seems that every time he leaves a bathroom the supervisor is there, urging him on to the next with a quick smack to his ass or the back of his head. Several times the supervisor comes in while he's cleaning, standing over him and telling him to work faster, pointing to a spot he might have missed. Once the supervisor has him clean a urinal until it shines, then messily uses it and stands over him while he cleans it again. There's no stopping for a quick breather, or a look out the windows. The man has a cane which he uses to prod at Greg but he escapes any actual caning by working as hard as he can.

By the time he goes to the canteen he's already physically exhausted and the day has barely begun. The cereal has the vegetable crap on it today, his bread is dry and Kev makes sure to sit opposite him so he can stare at him throughout the meal.

They are sitting close to each other on the benches and the smell of unwashed clothes and the morning's sweat is strong, Greg looks at the line of slaves, collars around their necks, dutifully eating their meal and has a sudden need to get out, to be away from them. He's almost finished, just a spoonful of the vegetable puree thing left in his bowl and he goes to stand up. They're allowed to leave once they've eaten their meal, though mostly the slaves don't after first meal, they'll only have to go back to their work.

Jon taps him on the arm. "Clean your bowl," he says quietly, indicating the bare spoonful of food left in it. His eyes hold a clear warning.

He has sudden memory of meals with Dad, every last scrap of food had to be eaten, and if he didn't he had to sit there until it was. If it got to bedtime and he was still sitting there it would be served up for breakfast, cold, the next day. He looks at Jon and at the mess in his bowl.

"It's disgusting," he says to him quietly.

"Aw Doctor Cuddy feeds you good, fancy boy." Kev cuts in and makes an obscene gesture with his tongue while the other slaves laugh. Greg feels himself flushing, he knows that he is known as 'Doctor Cuddy's boy' and the others assume she is using him sexually. He wants to tell them that she's not like that, that she's his supervisor, nothing more.

"Sit down and clean your bowl," Jon repeats, his voice stressed now, his eyes darting around the room.

He realizes he is attracting attention by still standing. With a shudder he remembers what happened to Danny and sits back down, picking up his bowl and spooning the last bit of the food into his mouth. It's still disgusting.

He gets up again and puts his bowl and spoon in the dirty dishes tray. Meekly he asks the supervisor if he may be excused.

"When you've licked your bowl clean, boy. 'Disgusting', is it? Good food, you should be grateful."

He stands there for a second and then realizes the supervisor is serious, he takes his bowl back out of the tray and slowly he licks it clean of the last of the food, smearing his face with the mess.

He holds out the bowl and the supervisor stares at him, he swallows.

"Thank you for the food, sir."

"Now you can just wait here, boy, until it's time to go. On all fours boy, now!"

He hesitates and then puts the bowl on the tray and gets down, kneeling like a dog on his hands and knees. He hears the chatter of the slaves around him, a few laugh quietly as they see him kneeling there. The signal goes and the slaves start filing out but he stays where he is, knowing better than to move before he is dismissed. The supervisor gives him a kick on his behind and tells him to get moving. He doesn't say to stand up so Greg crawls to the door and doesn't stand until he's in the hallway.

He goes back to his cleaning.

* * *

At 7.30 he picks up his cleaning kit and goes down the stairs to the basement. The supervisor's door is open and he goes in and kneels in front of the desk.

"Have you been doing a good job, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go to the dorm, take those clothes off, fold them neatly, and then go to the showers."

The hot water isn't turned on at this time of day, and the water is freezing, he quickly splashes himself and goes to get out.

The supervisor is standing there watching him.

"Get back in there boy and do a proper job of cleaning yourself. Don't want you offending any of the clinic staff with your stink. Do a good job or I'll get a brush and come and do it for you."

He goes in again, gritting his teeth against the cold of the water and does a more thorough job. This time when he goes to get out the supervisor lets him.

He's handed an old towel and he dries himself off roughly under the gaze of the supervisor.

"Come here, boy, let's have a look at you."

The supervisor runs his hands over him, telling him to open his mouth so he can look inside. It's the same sort of 'inspection' that the guard on the second floor regularly subjects him to and he's not surprised when he's told to bend over and spread his ass cheeks with his hands.

After a thorough 'inspection' the supervisor sends him on his way to the dorm with a slap to his naked quivering butt. He follows him there.

"Get those fancy clothes on, boy, quickly."

Once he's dressed he take the rolltop and labcoat out of his locker and holds them. The supervisor looks at them.

"What are those, boy?"

"Sir, they're a rolltop and a labcoat, sir."

The supervisor slaps him across the back of his head.

"Don't be insolent, boy. Why are you taking those?"

Greg holds them tightly.

"Sir, I am to wear them in the clinic sir, so people don't know I am a slave."

The supervisor looks at him in surprise.

"You'll always be a slave, boy. No fancy clothes are going to change that. Let me have a look at them."

He reluctantly hands them over and the supervisor shakes them out, feeling around the hems and checking the pockets of the labcoat. He shoves them back at Greg.

He's sent on his way to the clinic with a warning not to be late returning.

He breathes a sigh of relief as he leaves the basement, although he's not sure what's waiting for him in the clinic he thinks it can't be worse than this.

He makes his way to the clinic quickly. He hasn't been in this part of the hospital much and he looks around as he walks quietly along the side of the hallways, still holding his clothes.

"Greg!"

He hears Nurse Previn behind him and he stops and turns around. He almost kneels but stops himself.

Instead he waits respectfully with his hands behind his back.

"Why aren't you wearing your rolltop?"

"I'm not to wear it in the basement, ma'am. "

"Are you _in_ the basement? And don't call me ma'am."

"N..no ma...no, Nurse Previn."

"Then put it on now, there are patients outside the clinic doors waiting for it to open. From now on put these on before coming onto this floor."

He quickly slips the rolltop on and smooths it down, then the coat. He feels like 'Doctor House' again, at least a little bit.

"Good, come along then. Remember, no kneeling, no 'sir' or 'ma'am' to the other staff. Keep your eyes up and when you talk do it clearly and confidently."

"Yes, Nurse Previn."

He trails her to the clinic doors, there's already a few people outside like she said. She shows him to the admissions desk, explains that he is to hand out admissions forms to the people who come in, file the patient records when they have been seen. It's easy work, he would have hated being told to do this in his previous life but now it signals the start of much better things. And it sure as hell beats cleaning bathrooms, he thinks.

Some of the doctors and nurses he'd met yesterday arrive, they all stare at him, where he is sitting behind the desk but otherwise leave him alone. One of the women has a bag of donuts and offers them around, she doesn't offer one to Greg.

They let the patients in and he starts handing out the forms. The first couple of times he's nervous that someone is going to point at him and expose him as a slave but they just take the forms and go back to the chairs to fill them in, a young lady with a cough comes up to ask him about a couple of the questions and he manages to answer them to her satisfaction. He feels Nurse Previn's eyes on him but after a while she moves away. When he hands a form out to a patient he automatically assesses them, privately making a diagnosis. Most have colds, some suspect they have an STD. The sort of boring patients he would have disdained only months ago, now he'll be spending a large part of his week tending to them.

There's a shift change about ten o'clock and the doctor who'd leaned on his desk comes in. Greg looks at him nervously but he just glances at Greg and then goes to work. There's another doctor, a young man, undoubtedly an intern, overweight and five minutes late. Instead of picking up a patient file straight away he grabs a cup of coffee and one of the donuts that are left, stuffing it into his mouth. He starts complaining to the nearest nurse.

"Been a helluva week and now I have to get out of bed early on a Saturday to come and do this. Patients will be lucky if I can stay awake," he laughs harshly. Greg looks at the nurse and can tell she's unimpressed.

Greg reflects that he has been working over twelve hours a day all week and has been working today since quarter past four, with more cleaning when he finishes here and another twelve hours of cleaning tomorrow.

Before the nurse can reply Nurse Previn comes over.

"Doctor Jenkins, there are patients waiting, if you wouldn't mind."

As soon as her back is turned he rolls his eyes at the nurse but turns to pick up a patient file. As he does he knocks over his coffee so it spills over the desk and drips onto the floor.

"Damn!" He looks around and then sees Greg sitting at the desk. He smiles.

"Clean that up for me. I've got a patient to see."

As the doctor goes into an exam room Greg gets up and looks around for a cloth. Finding one he cleans up the spill and then the desk. Luckily his paperwork didn't get wet. He notices with dismay that there are a couple of coffee drops on his rolltop, he dabs at them ineffectually with the cloth.

The second shift is harder work for him than the first. Doctor Jenkins makes a point of knocking things off the admissions desk so that Greg has to pick them up. Then he has Greg sharpen some pencils for him, then find him a new pen because he doesn't like the one he has, then he tells him he's dropped a pill on the floor and he needs Greg to look for it. Greg is on his hands and knees underneath the desk looking for a pill he knows is imaginary when Nurse Previn comes over.

"Get up Greg, and go back to work."

He scrambles up and sit back down at the desk.

"Doctor Jenkins, Greg is not here to be your whipping boy. Please stop interfering with his real work."

"He's a slave isn't he? Little extra work won't hurt him."

"He's a member of the staff in this clinic, in one week's time he'll be here as a doctor. If you want anything found on the floor Doctor, find it yourself."

Doctor Jenkins glares at Greg but then turns and goes back to the examination room.

"You need to let me know if something like that happens, Greg."

"Yes, Nurse Previn," he says meekly.

She looks at him and shakes her head then goes back to her work.

At twelve she tells him to close the clinic doors, the waiting room is still full with patients, they'll be here for a while yet. One of the doctors comes out, a Doctor Bergeron according to the files Greg has been handling all morning. He looks around the full waiting room and sighs.

"I want a cup of coffee," he points it out and then looks at Greg, smiling, "get me one, 'Doctor House'. Cream, no sugar."

Greg hesitates briefly but he doesn't think this is what Nurse Previn was talking about, it's quite within his job description at the moment to fetch coffee, even if Doctor Bergeron's 'Doctor House' was said in a mocking tone.

He fetches the coffee quickly, taking it back to Doctor Bergeron. The doctor nods at him and Greg gathers his courage to ask a question. At least this doctor isn't as openly hostile as Doctor Jenkins.

"Doctor Bergeron, can I ask you about the third patient you saw, the twenty-seven year old woman with lung cancer?"

He's been thinking about the case for the last hour, he'd heard the woman cough and had glanced over her file when it was returned to him, noting a recent loss of weight. It was easy for a doctor to miss, with many other people coming in with coughs and colds but he's sure he's right. At the very least the woman should have gone for a lung x-ray. It's hard for him to speak up with his diagnosis but he knows he needs to. He'll be useless as a doctor if he's afraid of speaking up. He couldn't save his last 'patient', the little girl in the Center with acute appendicitis, maybe he can help save this one.

Doctor Bergeron just stares at him and keeps drinking his coffee. Greg forces himself to meet the doctor's eyes and not duck his head.

When Nurse Previn comes over he explains again, adding what he thinks should have happened.

"I would have sent her for an x-ray. I don't think Doctor Bergeron did," he wonders if he's just made another enemy.

At Nurse Previn's request he pulls the file out and she takes it from him and sends Doctor Bergeron back to the patients.

The doctors take another hour to clear all the patients up and then they and the nurses leave. Greg is left alone with Nurse Previn.

"You did well today, Greg."

"Thank you, Nurse Previn," he replies, thankful that she approves of his work.

She sits down and pulls a sandwich out of a bag.

She frowns at him.

"When do you have lunch Greg? When you go back downstairs?"

"I don't have lunch, Nurse Previn," he states simply. "Slaves don't."

"Huh. Well, I can't have you drooling over there while I'm eating." She gives him half a sandwich. "Eat that and then we'll go tidy the exam rooms up."

The sandwich is good, cheese and tomato on white bread and he eats it slowly. He wonders if he could ask Nurse Previn if he can have a cup of coffee but decides not to press his luck.

Nurse Previn pulls out the file from the woman with lung cancer.

She rings the number and asks the woman to come back in for an x-ray.

* * *

He goes back downstairs reluctantly at ten minutes till two. He's stripped off his labcoat and rolltop and is holding them when he reports to the supervisors office as ordered.

"Strip off, boy. Let's check you out."

He goes through the same humiliating 'inspection' as before and then the supervisor checks his clothing.

"This rolltop is stained, boy."

"Sir, a doctor drinking coffee spilled some on it, sir," he's not sure if there's a penalty for stained clothing, after all his 'cleaning' clothes are nothing but stains by now.

"You need to take better care of these, they're not cheap."

"Yes, sir."

"Right, take these, go back to the dorm and fold them up neatly in the locker and then put on your work clothes."

He makes his way naked down the hallway and reluctantly puts on his stained and sweaty work clothes again. He's ordered to clean up the ground floor bathrooms by the canteen first and he heads there.

He's cleaning the urinals when the door opens and Doctor Bergeron comes in. Greg freezes momentarily and ducks his head, mortified to be seen by the doctor dressed in his stained and sweaty clothing, on his knees and wiping down a urinal. When the doctor doesn't say anything or even seem to notice him he realizes that in his 'slave clothes' he's almost invisible to the man. Who takes notice of a cleaning slave doing his job? He moves away and while Doctor Bergeron uses the urinal he silently slips out the door.

* * *

He works through the rest of the afternoon with a break for exercise. He notices with relief that Mr Johnson is not there today and the man who is taking his place seems uninterested in the slaves, setting them to jogging around the field for the whole hour. Greg is already exhausted from his hard work and the jogging takes most of his remaining energy. By the time he comes in and showers he's aching all over. He goes and picks up his cleaning kit and gets back to work. The supervisor has already told him he's on duty until ten minutes till six so when the other slaves on his shift leave to go back to the dorm he keeps working. At least the supervisor seems to have mostly lost interest in him and doesn't keep appearing and inspecting his work.

By the time he's finished for the day he is desperate for a rest and some food. He turns his kit in and trudges towards the canteen, as he passes the supervisor's open doorway he's called in and told to kneel.

He kneels in front of the desk, wondering what he has done wrong now, he's been working hard all day.

"Hear you don't think much of the food, boy."

Greg's heart sinks, he suspects he knows what's coming next.

"Sorry, sir."

"Slaves need to eat to do their work. We feed you well here."

"Yes, sir," he says, trying to appear contrite.

"If you don't like the food, you can always get this instead."

The supervisor takes a bag of 'slave chow' out of a cupboard and fills a large bowl with it. He puts it on the floor in front of Greg. Greg can't help feeling like a dog about to be fed.

"Now you're going to eat this in ten minutes, by my clock. I'll tell you when to start. If you're not done in ten, you get one with the cane for every minute after that. If you're not happy with what you get in the canteen, you can always get fed in here, and get caned for dessert. Okay, start now."

At first he just stares at the bowl filled with the hated food. Then he blanks his mind and starts to eat it by the handful. At least he's allowed to use his hands, not like Danny...no, he won't think about that. Every mouthful reminds him of his time in the Center, in processing with a bowl in his cage, or when he was blinded and deafened and it was spooned into his mouth. He keeps eating mechanically, trying not to think, until the bowlful is completely gone, well inside the ten minutes.

He looks up, hoping to be dismissed but the supervisor has one last piece of chow held out on the palm of his hand.

"Here, Greg, you're not done yet."

It's clear what he expects Greg to do and he does it, crawling over on his hands and knees and eating the piece off the supervisor's hand. Then the supervisor puts a bottle of water between his lips and tips it up so Greg can swallow some. Then he waits.

Greg can hardly force the words out but he says it.

"Thank you, sir."

"All right, go shower and go to your dorm. Don't even think about leaving it tonight. Work hard tomorrow."

As he leaves the office he realizes he's being 'sent to bed' early. He almost laughs, it's not like he has anywhere else to go, or anything else to do.

The showers are cold at this hour, and there are no towels available so he uses his cleaning clothes to roughly dry himself and then walks naked back to the dorm.

There's no one here yet, everyone else is probably still eating a proper evening meal, sitting on the hard wooden benches and talking and laughing together, all the while keeping a watchful eye out for the supervisor. Well, he doesn't miss the company of the other slaves but he regrets missing the meal, the slave chow sits heavily in his stomach, a full feeling but with no pleasure in the food.

He puts the damp clothes in his locker and then goes to his bunk, pulling the sheet up to cover his nudity.

Some of the other slaves come in, they glance at him but then ignore him. It's not until Kev comes up to his bunk that he sits up warily.

"Suzie says she saw you working in the clinic today. Sitting at a desk in those fancy clothes of yours."

"Miss me while you were cleaning urinals?"

"Working in the clinic you should be able to get your hands on good stuff. You need to trade it with us."

"I'm not taking things from the clinic, I'm particularly not taking anything to give to _you_."

"We need the kind of stuff they have there, pills, bandages, shit like that. Coffee, sugar, paper. Everyone gets stuff when they can, you have to do what you can."

"Well I'm not everyone, now fuck off."

Kev clenches his fists and Greg looks around warily, there are only a couple of other slaves in the room, and they're ignoring them. Jon isn't here.

"Better be careful, I'm on punishment, and the supervisor told me to go to the dorm and stay there, think they're not watching tonight?" Greg nods his head at the camera in the corner, and Kev glances at it.

Kev relaxes and steps back.

"Just remember, they won't always be watching pretty boy, you need to make friends down here, Doctor Cuddy isn't going to come down here and protect you is she?"

He backs off and leaves the dorm and Greg lies back down. He doesn't think Kev can do much to him, not as closely as they are watched. He's dealt with bullies before, the best thing to do is stand up to them. He's not going to risk his position in the clinic to steal a couple of Tylenol for the other slaves.

He lies back down, pulling the blanket up around him. It's been a long hard day and he's exhausted. His time in the clinic had mostly been good. It had made him feel more confident to have his labcoat on and have people around who didn't know what he was. He'd diagnosed that patient with the lung cancer without even examining her. He was more confident that he could work there now, most of the other staff had at least tolerated him. Doctor Jenkins was just an ass, and Nurse Previn had protected him there.

The rest of the day though, the supervisory staff had made sure that he knew exactly what he was. He was a slave, subject to their orders, their punishments and their whims. He'd crawled like an animal, and been fed like a dog. He'd worked his ass off, cleaning their damn bathrooms. Tomorrow promised to be just as miserable, without even the stint in the clinic to relieve it.

Feeling completely drained, both physically and mentally he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Day 10 – Sunday**

Greg decides he didn't miss much when he missed 'Sunday morning cleaning' last weekend. As soon as they get up they do a thorough cleaning of their dorm and the hallways outside. Clothes are taken to the laundry, beds are stripped, floors are mopped. When they've finished cleaning the dorm the supervisor comes in and does a complete inspection of every surface. When he finds even a speck of dust on the floor Greg is called out to go down on his hands and knees and clean it up, he's apparently still on punishment as his every move is scrutinized and the supervisor carries a cane with him, although so far he has only used it to poke and prod at Greg, encouraging him to move faster.

When the supervisor is finally satisfied with their room and the hallway outside they're dismissed to go to their first meal. There's cheese and jam today and Greg takes as large a piece as he can manage of both. He's not hassled today about not working, although Kev makes a point of sitting opposite him and glaring at him throughout the meal. He doesn't complain about any of the food and stays seated until the signal goes to leave.

After their meal they move on to cleaning the offices and storage rooms. Greg is assigned to the security room and he is given the job of cleaning the inside of the cage, he's trembling slightly as he gets down on his hands and knees and leans inside to clean the floor.

"You fit inside there nicely, boy. Maybe Doctor Cuddy will get a cage for her office, and then she can put you in there when she's not using you," the guard laughs at his own wit and Greg clamps his mouth shut.

When they're finished with the offices they move on to the kitchen. The last day shift dorm has just had their meal and the kitchen and canteen area needs to be thoroughly cleaned before preparation begins for the evening meal.

"You, boy," the supervisor points at Greg with his cane. "Strip off!"

He glances around the room at the other slaves but they are just standing there grinning at him. Kev in particular seems highly amused. Surely the supervisor isn't going to use him here, in front of everyone else?

"Now, boy!" the cane flicks out at him and he flinches as his calf is hit with it, just lightly, there won't be a mark, but enough to sting.

He quickly takes off his clothes and folds them into a neat pile.

"Come over here," he's led to the stove top. "Get down and get under that and scrape off the muck and then mop the tiles underneath. Then you can do under the counters." The supervisor points to the work surfaces. There's barely enough room under any of them for him to fit and as he scrapes at their underside the filth falls down onto him, now he understands why he had to strip off. When he's finished scraping he goes over onto his belly and snakes out from underneath them, mopping as he goes. It's hot, dirty and hard work. He's covered in sweat and filth by the time he's finished. He puts his dirty clothes on over his dirty body and the supervisor sends him on his way with a smack to his rear.

"Good boy, you can work hard when you want to. Now you keep working like that boy and you might not end up on punishment again."

The supervisor wanders off, and they're alone, cleaning down the dining area. Jon taps him on the arm.

"Come with me." He follows as Jon always seems to know what they are supposed to be doing and Jon leads him to the room where they are groomed.

The Peach is in there, cleaning down the chairs they lie on. She stops as Jon comes in and Greg begins to feel scared. Neither of them look like they are here just for cleaning.

"Greg, you're new here, you made a bad start. You came straight from the Center, believe me, we _know_ what that's like," Jon says, leaning up against the chair. "But you're here now and you have to help out, you have to get along. We try and make things better for _everyone_."

"You're working upstairs, you're not heavily supervised, and you were working in the clinic yesterday. All we need is for you to get a few things, to contribute..." The Peach adds."We can help you too, there's a lot you don't know about how things work..."

"You don't get it," Greg says, his voice louder that theirs. "You haven't got anything I want and I'm not going to lose what I do have." He's not going to do anything that jeopardizes his position in the clinic. Doctor Cuddy is showing faith in him and he's not going to let her down. He doesn't care what the other slaves think of him. He looks around the room, searching for a way past them, they're standing between him and the door.

"No one wants you to lose out. It's not just about being willing to trade when you can. You got a lot of people's backs up. Maybe that's mostly not your fault, you're new. You can't help it if Doctor Cuddy favors you, but you don't need to act like having her as your supervisor makes you any better than anyone else."

"Won't last," Jon says, "Never does, I've seen it before. She hasn't even tagged you, but even if she did, no one tags a slave for ever. You could be here for a long time, for a lot longer than Doctor Cuddy's going to want you."

"It's not like that," Greg says. Why does everyone think that the only interest Doctor Cuddy could have in him is as some sort of sex toy? _I'm a fucking Doctor_ he wants to scream, _not a porn star._

"Everyone who gets tagged always says that," Jon said. "And she hasn't even tagged you."

Greg looks at the door again, he just needs to get past them, they'll probably move, he doesn't want to bring a guard running, he's the one on punishment detail, he's the one whose ass will get caned if there's any trouble.

He looks at the door again, it's open, they're having this top secret clandestine little slave meeting and they left the door open? He brushes past them and yanks it open. Kev's out there, 'cleaning' the hallway.

So Jon and the Peach are in here being all nice, and come on Greg, you need to get along with people and fucking Kev is hanging out in the hall, in case what? If he doesn't listen he can come in and have a go at Greg?

He snaps, all the anger and frustration that had been building up since he got here comes bubbling out of him. He doesn't need these people, they're slaves, he's not like them.

"I am a Board-qualified physician with a double specialty in nephrology and infectious diseases. From next Monday when my medical license is reactivated I'll be working in the free clinic as a doctor, and I'll be running the Diagnostics Department in this hospital. Doctor Cuddy didn't buy me because she 'wants' me, because she 'favors' me. I get treated differently from you because I _am_ different from you. I'm _better_."

He may have to take crap from the supervisors and the guards, he may have to strip naked when they tell him to, he may have to bend over and have his ass fucked whenever they like but he doesn't have to take anything from _slaves_.

He kicks at Kev's bucket, and it tips over, spilling dirty water over the hall. "Clean _that_ up," he says, and storms off down the hallway, heedless of anyone watching.

He almost runs down the hallway. There's a different feel to the place today. Normally the halls are quiet except for brief bursts of activity when a dorm of slaves is going to the canteen, or to the showers. Now there are people everywhere, spreading out into every corner of the basement, cleaning it . The supervisors are still around but there's only a couple of them and they can't be everywhere. There is a quiet chatter amongst the slaves, a spirit of everyone mucking in and getting the job done. It makes it easy for him to get away.

He's not sure where he's going, he's just so _angry._ He's angry at Jon, at Kev and the slave with the stupid name, he's angry at Mr Johnson, and the guards, he's angry at Jenkins and Cuddy and Previn and Doris fucking Foster, he's angry at everyone in this damn place who abuses him, treats him like he's nothing. Most of all, he thinks, he's angry at himself for getting himself into this stupid situation. He's angry at the life he's lost, at the person he's become.

He's just so fucking angry.

He ducks into the nearest doorway and realizes where he is, outside the cells where he was put his first day here. There's a camera but he stands behind it so it won't catch him. He slumps to the ground and slams the wall with his fist, tears coming to his eyes.

That's where they find him.

Kev has come with some of his friends. He recognizes a couple, the others he doesn't know. He stands up warily, wiping his tears away, realizing his stupidity at coming to such an isolated corner of the basement. They're all carrying cleaning gear and one of them breaks off and starts to mop the floor where they had come in.

He figures he has one chance of getting away clean, and that's to make the first move. So he gets to his feet slowly and then puts his hands up, as if in surrender. He sees Kev relax slightly and he drives an elbow into his gut and starts to run.

They're caught by surprise and he's almost through them when one of them trips him, he staggers, almost recovers and then slips on the floor where the slave has been mopping it. His feet slide out from underneath him and he goes down, as he falls he feels something sharp scratch at the back of his head and then he's on the floor.

Kev has recovered and is by his side, hauling him to his feet. Greg staggers, and then shrugs him off.

"Shit! He's bleeding Kev, his head is bleeding."

One of the slaves he doesn't recognize is pointing at his head and Greg puts his hand back there, it comes away sticky with blood. When he looks around he realizes he's caught his head on a hook on the wall.

The other slaves start backing away, looking nervously down the hall.

"Fuck! Clear off you lot," Kev orders them. He looks at Greg.

"Just tell them you fell, they won't care. They'll take you and stitch it up, you'll get light duties for the rest of the day." Kev throws the discarded mop at him. "You slipped and fell on the water," he kicks at the bucket so it falls over and the water spills.

Kev disappears as well and Greg stares after them. Anger has gone, now he is shaken and scared. He feels his head again, it's still bleeding. His hair is so short he knows the wound will be easily visible. He makes his way back the way he came, legs shaky. He hasn't gone far before he comes across the supervisor who'd been standing over him most of the morning.

"Where have you been, boy? Skulking around?"

"S..s..sir...I s..s...slipped sir...I was m...m...mopping..."

"What?"

He holds his hand out, wet with blood. The supervisor spins him around and examines his head.

"Okay, you'll live but you'll need stitches. Come on."

He's hustled to the security office where cuffs are placed on his wrists, and shackles on his ankles. He stares at them, wondering why they think it's necessary to chain him, where are they taking him?

"Okay boy, how did this happen?"

"Sir, I was c..cleaning the hallway outside the c..c..cells, I k...kicked over the bucket and then I s...s...slipped on the water, I think I hit my head on something."

"Yeah Einstein, we can tell that from the blood," the supervisor laughed. "Clumsy boy, now I have to file a report about it."

"S..s..s..sorry, sir."

"So you should be."

"Does he usually stutter like that?" one of the guards asks the supervisor as he checks his restraints and fixes a leash on his collar. "Did he rattle his brains?"

"Yeah, sometimes he does. I think he's just a bit shook up. He's Doctor Cuddy's boy, he's on punishment detail for the weekend, he's been naughty, haven't you boy?"

The two security guards haul him to his feet and he shuffles out of the office, his feet hobbled by the chain. As they go towards the stairs the supervisor grabs Kev who is sweeping the hallway.

"Take a couple of the others and go and clean up outside the quarantine cells, and be quick about it. Boy here has been bleeding all over the floor down there."

"Yes, sir." Kev answers and moves off quickly.

Greg hopes he slips in the water himself.

They go up a flight of stairs and then into a small room. There's a divider in the middle, mostly made of glass, and Greg can see in the other half of the room there's a couple of examination couches, with manacles.

There's a female slave on one of the couches, with a needle in her arm and a lady collecting her blood. Greg recognizes instantly what's going on, the slave is donating her blood.

He stops walking, looks around and sees a handful of slaves sitting on chairs outside the room, drinking a cup of something. This is some sort of blood drive for slaves. They're going to take his blood, they're going to chain him to a couch and take his blood. The guards urge him on and he digs his heels in, resisting their efforts. Once they have him on that couch they can do anything to him. Who knows what sort of quack they'll get to work on his head, do they even have doctors for slaves? Or because he's bleeding anyway are they just going to take some more?

The guards have tightened their grip on his arms and they're trying to pull him forward.

"N...n..no, I don't want...I don't want to give blood...d.d..don't."

"Shut up boy, you'll do what you're told."

"N...no...no..." he shakes his head, pulling back. He's yelling and they're attracting attention. He sees the slave on the other couch staring at them.

One of the guards produces a gag and as he's in mid protest it's stuffed into his mouth. He keeps trying to talk through the gag but all that comes out are muffled sounds. He's not sure why he's so scared. Now that he can't protest he goes limp and they drag him to a couch. They manacle his hands either side before uncuffing him, they leave the shackles on. He keeps trying to talk but they ignore him.

"Hit his head," one of the guards explains to the lady who apparently works here. "Don't know what his problem is now."

"He's scared, poor thing, it's okay dear, I'll just get a doctor to come and stitch that up for you. Just relax."

He shakes his head and tells her no, he wants out of here but the words are muffled by the gag and she just shrugs. She looks at the guards.

"You can leave, we'll call you if we need you. Sometimes they get frightened when they hurt themselves, he'll settle down. Maybe he's never had stitches before."

The guards leave and then the lady says something to the other lady and leaves as well. He's lying manacled to a couch watching the other slave have their blood drawn. When she finishes with the girl she comes over to him and pats his arm.

"Now, if you'll be quiet, I can take that out. No one here's going to hurt you."

He stares at her and then stops trying to talk, going still on the couch. He wants the gag out, he hates gags. The feel of the gag in his mouth reminds him of being 'measured' at processing, gags shoved into his mouth to see how wide his mouth could be forced open.

She takes it out and he works his jaw, his mouth is dry but he doesn't want to say anything in case she puts the gag back in.

"You just lie there and calm down. I have to get this girl her cookie and orange juice."

She takes the female slave out and then reappears with a male slave he doesn't recognize She fusses over him, making soothing noises and starting the blood draw. Then she comes back over to Greg.

"A bit happier now? We might only take a little of your blood today. I'm just going to prick your finger, just a little sting - There! That didn't really hurt, did it? Now just lie there and relax, I'll be back in a few minutes."

He wants to tell her he doesn't want to give blood. He's injured, he needs a doctor not a vampire. He has a sudden memory from years ago, when he was a med student doing practical experience in a hospital. They'd been taken to a room where there were some slaves on beds and been let loose to practice taking blood. He remembers his fumbling efforts and the big wide eyes of the slave watching him. But those slaves had volunteered, he was sure they had, they weren't chained. After they'd successfully taken the blood they'd been told to give the slave a drink and a bar of chocolate. He'd felt good when he'd seen the slave obviously enjoying his chocolate, like he'd given him a treat.

Now he realizes that those slaves hadn't volunteered. They'd had no choice.

When the first lady comes back she has a baby-faced doctor in tow, he is rumpled and looks exhausted, obviously an intern.

Both of the ladies are pleased to discover he has AB blood, he could have told them that if they'd bothered to ask. As the intern swabs the wound on the back of his head they discuss whether he can give blood or not, the intern says he can give a pint. Greg starts to shake his head and the intern holds his head steady.

They read a code off his collar and start a file card for him. He hasn't realized that he has a number on his collar. He has a name, he doesn't need a number, why can't they use his name?

The intern stitches him up, he doesn't use any numbing agent so it hurts like hell, he tries to squirm away but the manacles hold him in place.

Another slave gives blood on the other couch. It's a process line of slaves, all 'giving' blood, another Sunday ritual maybe, like the cheese and jam and the basement cleaning. It makes sense, Sunday is a lighter duty day, and a quieter day in the hospital, it won't interfere with their work too much to give blood.

The intern finishes and gives him basic instructions on wound care, and to let his supervisor know if the wound feels hot or is swelling. He doesn't wait for a response but goes off, yawning.

"Are you going to be good if we take the shackles off?" One of the ladies asks him.

He nods, he wants them off. As she releases them she explains that they aren't going to hurt him, just a little sting and then he gets juice and a cookie. Juice and a cookie for a pint of blood - he wonders if that seems a fair trade to them.

He's steeling himself for the blood draw when they discover he can't give blood, it's hospital policy not to take blood if the slave was bought less than 3 months ago, they both seem really annoyed, he's relieved. He knows its only a temporary reprieve but its something. They enter his details into the bone marrow registry and he shudders, taking blood is bad enough, but bone marrow...and he's a rare blood type...it could happen.

He has another memory, from his nephrology residency. There'd been a patient in desperate need of a kidney transplant, rare blood group, no family to donate. One day a slave had come in with a visitor and been tested. Greg isn't sure exactly what happened but the next time he saw that slave he was in a recovery ward, minus a kidney and without a collar.

Now he wonders if the slave sold his kidney for his freedom, he wonders if he could ever do that.

They get him off the bed and walk him out to the chairs. One of them takes his hand and draws a red circle on it, he doesn't know what that mark means, probably that he has given blood. She winks at him and tells him he can have a juice and cookie anyway. She holds the cookie out and he opens his mouth and she pops it in. It's raspberry and it does taste good.

"We'll see you in three months," she says with a happy smile.

His previous anger has gone and now he just feels numb. He'd thought he'd gone as low as he could when he had realized that he's just equipment now, now he realizes that it's worse than that. The people here see him as spare parts.

* * *

When he reports back to the supervisor the man examines his hand and grunts. He sticks his head out the door and calls to another man.

"Barnes, punishment slave has got himself light duties, take him out to the loading bay for the afternoon will you."

Barnes clips a leash on his collar and leads him out to the bay. Greg realizes that this is where he'd first been delivered to the hospital over a week ago. It's littered with the usual rubbish of a loading bay, cigarette butts, candy wrappers, bits of food. He's given a garbage bag and told to pick the rubbish up. Barnes tells him there's no rush, he can have a drink from the tap when he wants, even sit down for a breather if he needs to.

Greg stares at the man, not trusting his affable appearance and words. He takes the bag and starts to methodically clear the bay of rubbish. He goes slowly, as instructed, keeping a wary eye on the supervisor, when the man seems uninterested he goes over to the tap and takes a long drink. After he's been cleaning for a little longer he sits down on the ground for a couple of minutes. taking a 'breather'. It's warm out here in the sun, and he hasn't got a tool to pick the rubbish up so there's a lot of bending involved. Not something he would have recommended for someone with a head injury, however minor. But even this seems like an unexpected kindness after his weekend of harsh treatment.

After he's been cleaning for a while Barnes calls him over and attaches the leash to his collar again, then the other end around the drainpipe near the tap. He tells Greg he'll be back in half an hour and he's to 'rest up'. Greg guesses it must be the guard's lunch break.

He sits on the ground and helps himself to a drink from the tap, cleaning his hands as best he can first. He's tired, and filthy, his head is throbbing a little and he feels totally numb, almost in a daze. His previous anger has gone. He stares dully at the gates at the edge of the bay. They're locked but he fantasizes about unclipping his leash and finding a way out, the world is out there.

 _I'm going to be a doctor again_ , he tells himself, _this isn't going to last. I have an office, I'll work in the clinic, I'll be in the diagnostics department_. _This is going to get better_. He ignores the small voice in his head that points out that Doctor Cuddy discarded him this weekend, as easily as she would discard a pair of shoes. He tries not to think of how they all call him 'Doctor Cuddy's boy'. She's made no sexual requests of him as yet, but he hasn't been here long.

 _"You could be here for a long time, for a lot longer than Doctor Cuddy's going to want you."_ Jon's words echo in his memory. What will happen if Doctor Cuddy loses interest in him?

The afternoon proceeds in much the same languid fashion as the period before lunch, he ambles around the loading dock picking up trash. There are lots of cigarette butts, and the first few ones give him pause, bringing nausea to his throat but after a while he manages to pick them up with only a slight shudder. When Barnes lights a cigarette he goes to the furthest corner of the bay and desperately tries to ignore the wafting cloud of smoke.

He notices, after a time, that Barnes is watching him more closely. The man is rubbing his groin with the palm of his hand. Greg's heart sinks. He hasn't been taken to exercise today, he assumes the 'light duty' designation precludes that. Is this man going to use him when he's finished his shift? He knows he's filthy, and his clothes reek, surely the man won't want him?

When Barnes calls him over he goes with a feeling of dread.

"Come here," Barnes tells him, putting his hand on Greg's shoulder. "Down on your knees. Mouth open wide..."

He's not going to fuck him then, he just wants Greg to give him a blow job. Greg's had a few male partners, he's done this before. It's not like he wants to but it's better than the guy fucking him. He opens his mouth wide and Barnes shoves himself inside.

"Now suck it, 'Doctor', good boy - " He grabs hold of Greg's head and pulls him closer, "Nice, suck it, 'Doctor'..."

Greg freezes when he hears him say 'doctor' , the guy must have heard about his stint in the clinic, now he has some sexual fantasy of fucking a slave who dares to call himself a doctor. He suppresses the urge to bite the dick in his mouth and instead keeps sucking, trying to keep his mind blank, and to end this as soon as possible.

When Barnes comes Greg tries to hold it in his mouth so he can spit it out but the guard prods him sharply.

"Swallow it boy, don't want a mess on the ground."

Greg obediently swallows and then sits back on his heels. The bitter tang of it is in his mouth and he wants to go and drink a gallon of water to wash the taste away.

Barnes pets his head, calling him a good boy. He fumbles through his pockets, maybe looking for something to feed Greg, for a 'treat' but comes up empty and shrugs.

"Okay. Good boy, on your feet, let's go back inside. You did a pretty good job today."

Once he's turned over to the evening supervisor and dismissed Greg goes to the nearest bathroom and throws up as much as he can. Then he rinses his mouth out and scrubs his face.

Then he goes to dinner.

He's left alone at dinner, the other slaves ignoring him. Even Kev looks away.

By the time he's in the shower that night he realizes what is happening. They're shunning him. They'll have nothing to do with him. He's not shoved in the shower like normal, he's not taunted by the others, Jon doesn't offer friendly advice. He's nothing to them now.

He tells himself he doesn't care.


	12. Chapter 12

**Day 11 – Monday**

When he gets up he puts his 'cleaning clothes' on, they've been washed at least so they don't smell as bad as they did yesterday. He makes his way to where the supervisor is handing out the cleaning kits. He's not sure whether he's still on 'punishment' today or whether he will just be left to get on with it.

The supervisor eyes him up and down.

"Says here that your punishment is ended, boy, so you get on with your normal routine. I'll still be keeping an eye on you though, so no slacking off or you'll feel my cane on your backside. You were on light duties yesterday afternoon, you're not today. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Off you go then."

He trots off with his cleaning gear, going up to the first floor to start there. The other slaves all ignore him, it's as if he doesn't exist.

* * *

Sometime after the first meal he is working on the second floor. He pauses as he passes by his office, it's locked and silent. He wishes he could slip in there, sit down on the floor and read one of the medical texts. Doctor Cuddy has ordered some journals for him, he will need to keep up to date on all medical advances and research. She's indicated she'll expect him to write up cases and submit them to the journals. She wants him to bring fame and prestige to this small teaching hospital. Instead he's cleaning its bathrooms.

He goes into the bathroom he normally uses when he's working here and starts to clean it. When the door opens he glances behind him, ready to leave silently if it's a free person wanting to use the bathroom. It's Mr Smith, the sanitation supervisor, he remembers that the man doesn't want him to stop and kneel but to keep working. He redoubles his efforts on the urinal he's wiping down.

Mr Smith doesn't say anything, he just leaves. Greg swallows his fear, finishes the job and then leaves. Mr Smith is standing in the corridor outside, Greg tries to slip by him and go to the female bathroom but he's stopped by a heavy hand on his arm.

"Okay, boy, you follow me," he heads off down the corridor, towards the stairs. Greg freezes. He's not sure where Mr Smith is heading and he doesn't want to go with him. It's never good news when a supervisor singles you out. He's already Mr Johnson's favorite screw, he doesn't want to be somebody else's.

"Sir, I'm supposed to be cleaning bathrooms till half past seven," he tells him desperately.

"I know. Don't worry, boy, I'll see you don't get in trouble for this."

His heart sinking he follows Mr Smith down to the sanitation office. The man enters, gestures him in and closes the door behind them. Greg sinks to his knees in front of the desk and waits for the command to 'strip off, boy'.

Instead Mr Smith starts on a meandering speech about how Greg is going to be sorry if he ever tells anyone about this. Greg wonders what kind of bizarre thing Mr Smith is going to do to him that would require this level of secrecy, certainly Mr Johnson has never seemed to care if Greg told anyone.

He finally realizes that Mr Smith is talking about the diagnosis of diabetes that Greg had given to Nurse Previn and Doctor Cuddy days ago. Greg had forgotten about that, he'd diagnosed the man quickly upon meeting him, it was obvious after all, and had only mentioned it to try and impress Nurse Previn. He is pleased that his diagnosis was correct but he'd never had any doubt, he doesn't understand why Mr Smith is telling him this.

"So, what I guess I figured I should say, is thank you. I'm glad you aren't working in Sanitation regular. Thought you were doing whatever for Doctor Cuddy now. Get up, boy."

Greg gets quickly to his feet, he's stunned that Mr Smith is thanking him. He's not sure what he's supposed to do now, they are both standing awkwardly in the small office, he goes to duck his head and then straightens and looks Mr Smith in the eye. Finally, with another warning that he'll regret this is he tells anyone, Mr Smith holds out his hand.

Greg hesitates and then realizes what the man wants. He brings his hand forward and shakes Mr Smith's hand, he's still feeling awkward but he's also feeling good. Mr Smith has made him feel good about himself, for the first time in a long time.

Mr Smith says 'thank you' and releases his hand. Greg lets his drop by his side and then takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders and lifting his head up.

"You're welcome...sir."

The moment doesn't last, he's dismissed to go and clean the bathrooms on the first floor. He quickly leaves.

As he makes his way back up to the first floor he realizes something odd.

He's smiling.

* * *

He's in the first floor women's bathroom, diligently cleaning the mirrors when they come in. There's three young women, giggling and talking excitedly to each other. A quick glance is enough for him to see they're nursing students and he panics. Instead of slipping behind them and leaving the bathroom he does a stupid thing, he ducks into one of the cubicles and latches the lock.

He's hoping that they'll do their business and leave quickly but of course they don't. They're young, and giggly and they think it's hilarious that he's in there. They call out that they're going to wait for him, and they make stupid jokes. He's worried, it's getting close to the time when he should be going to get cleaned up for clinic duty and he can't be late for clinic.

He's on the verge of steeling himself to just go out and then and make a run for the door when he hears the outer door open again. It's Nurse Previn, someone he really doesn't want to see him like this.

The girls explain what they're doing, in amongst fits of laughter, saying he 'scuttled' into the cubicle. Then Nurse Previn gives them a blistering dressing down, it almost makes him smile again, the girls shut up and leave. Now he just has to hope that Nurse Previn leaves as well.

No such luck of course, she calls out 'get out of there' and he sheepishly leaves the cubicle and comes to stand before her, ducking his head. To his surprise all she asks is whether they saw him, when he says no she nods.

"Get down to the basement and change into your clinic clothes. You should _not_ be wandering around the hospital like a cleaning slave where anyone can see you."

His eyes widen, he wonders if this means that she will try and get him out of cleaning duties. He doesn't say anything further, just leaves to go downstairs.

He goes quickly down the stairs, holding his kit to him so it doesn't rattle and make a noise as he's moving. He's thinking about his coming clinic shift. Saturday's shift hadn't been too bad. Doctor Jenkins had been the worst, and Nurse Previn had intervened there. He doesn't know if the same people will be on today, probably not, they are volunteers so it is unlikely they will do too many shifts. He hopes that Nurse Previn has explained the situation to anyone who wasn't there on Saturday.

As he goes down the last step and into the basement hallway he stops abruptly. Mrs Foster is coming towards him.

As her looks at her he does a quick mental flick through of all the events since he last saw her, looking for misdeeds. He wonders if she has found out the truth about his 'accident' on Sunday, or whether she heard about his complaining about the food on Saturday, maybe she is wondering what he's doing coming back to the basement at this time of day? Does she know about his clinic duty?

He realizes that he's just standing there staring at her rather than kneeling straight away as he should, he drops to his knees, hoping she doesn't think he was too slow.

"On your feet, Greg. Doctor Cuddy's already told me you're supposed to report to Nurse Previn in the clinic at eight, not to her."

He gets quickly to his feet, relieved about that at least, and follows her to the dorm where she orders him to strip and then she leads him to the showers.

The water is cold again but Mrs Foster is watching him so he does a thorough job of washing. He feels exposed as he showers under her gaze, she can see the fading cane marks she put on his ass, the stitches on the back of his head, she can see every inch of him.

She passes him a towel when he comes out and he dries off and then she walks him back to his dorm, still naked.

"Kneel down," she orders and he does so, shivering slightly in the cool air. She examines the wound on the back of his head and then tells him to get dressed.

He does so quickly, again the clothes make him feel more confident, a man with a job of work to go to, rather than a naked huddled slave on his knees.

She gives him instructions on wearing his rolltop and labcoat, not to put them on down here, to put them on in the first floor stairwell. He knows all this, they've worked out the procedure, he just wants to get going. He can't be late for the clinic.

"Yes, ma'am," he answers when she's finished, looking past her at the doorway.

"I expect you think that people won't know what you are when your collar is hidden, Greg. Some people might not, especially people who aren't giving you more than a passing glance. Just remember: you're still the property of the hospital. You'll be encountering free people, people who don't work for this hospital. Any disrespect from you, any complaints from others, and you _will_ be subject to my discipline, and serious complaints from free people may mean you have to be whipped."

He focuses back on her, on what she is saying. He hasn't thought about that. In all his previous positions in hospitals patient complaints had followed his every move. He's been scolded, and lectured, and sanctioned for being rude to patients, being disrespectful and sometimes for performing procedures that the hospital deems too risky or not justified. Now, if he did any of those things, Mrs Foster could just bend him bare ass over her desk and cane him. Or worse, he could be strung up to a whipping post and whipped.

"Yes, ma'am," he answers quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

When she dismisses him he walks quietly up the stairs, pausing in the stairwell to put his other clothes on. He hopes he can manage to stay out of trouble today.

* * *

He gets to the clinic as the other staff are arriving. Nurse Previn gives him a quick look over and then tells him to go the desk and start handing out the forms, she ushers the five staff who have arrived early into a exam room and closes the door.

Greg looks at the door, he suspects that they are talking about him, Nurse Previn is probably filling them in on his status. He wishes that she could just let them think he was free, let the clothes do their job of concealing his status - why should it make any difference to them?

As the patients trickle in and come and get their forms another man in a labcoat bustles in the door. He looks around in puzzlement and then his gaze lands on Greg. His eyes narrow.

Once the patients have left the desk and are busy filling in their forms the newcomer comes and leans on the reception desk.

"So, you're a slave," he says quietly, as if in confidence.

Greg gulps and looks around nervously but no one is listening.

"Yes, sir."

He's saved from any further 'conversation' by Nurse Previn and the other staff coming back out of the exam room.

The day proceeds much like the day before, the patients come in, he gives them admission forms and they come back to him when they've completed them. A pair of young teenage girls seem to require a lot of help filling out the form and he patiently explains what the questions mean, when they sit back down they keep staring at him and giggling to each other. He begins to worry that they've recognized him as a slave and is relieved when they are called by the doctor. Brenda looks at him and rolls her eyes.

"It's those big blue eyes of yours, Greg, all the young ladies are going to want you as their doctor."

He looks at her startled, the young girls' behavior makes sense now, he looks down at his desk. He has no interest in them but for the first time since he left the Center he wonders if he will ever again be with someone who isn't just a free person making use of him, or a slave.

When the shift is winding down the young nurse who was late arriving makes a round of coffees for everyone. Greg watches them all taking their coffees, and helping themselves to a cookie or two from a jar near the coffee maker. As they begin to disperse back to their exam rooms the young nurse put a cup of coffee on the reception desk, smiles at him and then goes to the store room.

Greg stares at the coffee, he wonders if the nurse meant it to be for him. There is no one else at the desk, and everyone else had coffee. He's not sure what to do. Nurse Previn is helping one of the doctors with a patient and there is no one else to ask. He puts his hand out tentatively but then pulls it back. He hasn't been told he can drink the coffee. He can't take the risk.

When the nurse returns from the storeroom she picks up all the discarded coffee cups including the untouched one on the reception desk and cleans them all away.

When the last patient leaves and the other staff are gone Nurse Previn sits down at the desk and unwraps her lunch. She puts a sandwich in front of Greg and tells him to get her a coffee.

He obeys her quickly and gives her the coffee, placing it in front of her.

"Did you drink the coffee?" Nurse Previn asks casually, one hand on the cup.

He freezes, staring at her. The coffee earlier had been a test, they were testing him, putting coffee, and now sandwiches, in front of him to see if he would eat them. He has to let her know he would never do that. When he'd had the cigarette they'd thrown him a cage and made him smoke for two days, he'd been so sick, he can't even imagine the same thing with coffee. Bile rises to his mouth as he even thinks about it.

He drops to his knees, kneeling in the correct position with his hands behind his back and his head bowed.

"This slave didn't drink any coffee. Ma'am. I didn't, I didn't drink any..." he desperately tries to get this information across to her, he's sure now that the coffee was a trap, but he _hasn't_ had any of it, he shouldn't be punished. He doesn't want to go in the cage again.

"Oh get _up_ , you've been told, more than once. No kneeling. Stop talking like that. Sit down, eat your sandwich, and just answer the question."

Nurse Previn seems really annoyed and he gets hastily to his feet. He sits down and stares at the sandwich.

"I didn't drink the coffee, ma'am," he repeats.

"I didn't ask you if you drank any coffee Greg, I asked you if you _liked_ coffee. Now what is this coffee you didn't drink?"

He stares at her, gulping, realizing that he must have misheard her.

"One of the nurses ma'am, she put a cup of coffee on my desk, but I didn't drink it," he repeats. "I didn't."

"Yes, I got that Greg. I don't know why you didn't drink it though."

"Ma'am, I thought...I thought it might be a test Ma'am...Nurse Previn, to see if I drank it. I didn't drink it," he says, just to make sure.

"Don't be ridiculous. None of us should have time for those kind of stupid games. If I hear that one of the clinic staff were wasting their time on something like that, I'll be very angry with them. If I send you for a coffee, like I did just now, you can get a cup for yourself, if you want one."

He picks up his sandwich, turkey on white, and eats it in silence, then turns to stare at the coffee maker. He does like coffee, very much, and he would like a cup now.

"Too late. Remember that for next time, I don't like timewasters."

She gathers together the sandwich wrappings and tells him to go and start tidying up the exam room as he has to report to Cuddy at two o'clock. Then he remembers he has another problem. He tells her he has to go to the groomer at one thirty.

She doesn't seem to believe him so he starts taking his coat off so she can see the time written on his back but she stops him and tells him to get to work and go when he has to. She seems angry and he hurries off quickly, keen to get as much done as possible before he has to leave.

It's not until he's nearly finished straightening the room up that he realizes something, Nurse Previn brought in a sandwich just for him, a slave.

* * *

The groomer notices the cut on the back of his head of course.

"The hairs a bit matted around this cut boy, I'll just tidy it up for you, and trim your hair a little bit."

"Sir, Doctor Cuddy doesn't want my head shaved..." Greg says urgently, his hair is still very short, Doctor Cuddy would be upset if he was shaved again.

"Relax boy, I said trim, not shave. I know you want to look nice for Doctor Cuddy," the groomer pats his arm and then goes to work with his scissors.

"There, now you look very smart. She'll be pleased with you."

"Yes, sir," Greg mutters, going to stand up.

"Just hang on a sec there boy, I'm sure I've got some here somewhere..."

The groomer digs around in a drawer and then produces a bottle. To Greg's dismay he splashes some aftershave on his newly shaven chin.

"There you go, boy. She'll like that. Off you go, you don't want to keep her waiting."

Greg gets up, his heart sinking. He wonders if he will ever be known as anything other than 'Doctor Cuddy's boy' in this hospital.

He stands before the bathroom mirror staring at himself. Despite his neat appearance and clean clothes he still looks like the slave who spent much of the weekend on his hands and knees cleaning. Is it any wonder when he looks like a cleaning slave that Doctor Cuddy so easily assigned him to do just that? He needs to show her that he is more than just a slave, that he should be taken seriously. She hasn't seen him working in the clinic.

He scrubs away at his chin with some water and his hands, hoping to remove the scent of the aftershave. He's still holding the rolltop and labcoat so he quickly slips them on, smoothing down the rolltop over his collar so it barely shows. Now when he looks in the mirror he sees a serious doctor looking back at him. Clean shaven, hair neatly trimmed, he looks almost like his old self. Well, to be honest, his old self was very rarely this neat looking.

He's nervous about wearing the clothes when he's not in the clinic but no one has said that he's not to, just that he's not to wear them in the basement. Nurse Previn and Doctor Cuddy have both stressed that he is act less like a slave and more like a doctor, well this is part of that.

He nods to himself in the mirror and then notices the door to the bathroom opening, in the mirror he can see a cleaning slave about to enter, then catch sight of him and duck his head and leave. The slave had thought he was a free man.

* * *

When he enters Doctor Cuddy's office she stares at him for a moment, her eyes wide. He thinks he has done the wrong thing, wearing his rolltop. He comes into the room slowly, hesitating, ducking his head and going to put his hands behind his back and then remembering and leaving them dangling awkwardly by his side.

Doctor Cuddy stands up and tells him to sit down, and then closes the door. He gulps and sits down on the chair, balancing on the edge. She comes around behind him, and doesn't say a word about his choice of clothing. Instead he can feel her fingers probing the wound on his head. She must have heard about his 'accident'.

She asks him how it happened and he stammers out the lie Kev had told him, he was mopping a floor and slipped on the water.

She dismisses his explanation, seeming to be no longer interested and instead starts asking him random medical questions from a piece of paper she is holding.

They're easy questions, something you would find on an exam paper for a final year medical student. He answers slowly at first, not sure where this is going but then becomes more confident and starts answering more comprehensively. He might be a slave now but he still has all his medical knowledge, nobody can take that from him.

She stops after a few questions and then hands him some paper and pens, and the question sheets she has been using and tells him to go 'revise', take notes, answer questions. He wonders why but then shrugs internally, maybe she just needs to keep him 'busy' until he can start work properly in the clinic and diagnostics.

When he gets up he stands with his hand half out, waiting for her to give him the key back. He's been longing to have it back in his hand. She just looks at him and frowns, it's as if she's forgotten about the key.

He's not sure what to do, he's not supposed to ask for anything. He's not supposed to want anything but what he's given, but he needs that key to get into his office, it's locked, he saw that himself this morning.

He asks hesitantly, making his words as humble as possible.

"Ma'am, this slave doesn't have a key to the office," he said. "Can this slave have - have the key?"

She looks puzzled again and then seems to remember. He watches in apprehension as she roots around on her desk looking for the key. Finally she finds it and hands it to him. His fingers clasp around it eagerly.

When she tells him to 'run along' he leaves her office. To his dismay he sees both Mrs Foster and Nurse Previn seated in the waiting area. He want to duck back into Doctor Cuddy's office and hope Mrs Foster hasn't seen him but he can't so he tries to walk off unobtrusively, hoping to escape without censure.

"Greg," he freezes when he hears her, "you're not in the clinic now. Take that labcoat and rolltop off."

"Yes, ma'am," he says quietly and takes the garments off, exposing his collar again. He fights the urge to kneel.

Both ladies go inside the office, Nurse Previn giving him a little nod as she passes. They close the door behind them.

He stares at the door, worrying. He doesn't know why Mrs Foster is meeting with Nurse Previn and Doctor Cuddy, it could be about anything but he assumes that he is the common factor. Doctor Cuddy seemed interested in his injury earlier, maybe she had doubts about his explanation. Or maybe she has decided upon another punishment for him and she is letting Mrs Foster know about it, or maybe...

"You, boy, what are you gawking at?"

He turns around quickly, Doctor Cuddy's secretary is standing behind him, an angry expression on her face. He goes to kneel but then stays standing, if he doesn't kneel for Nurse Previn he doesn't think he should kneel for the secretary.

"Sorry ma'am, I was just going down to the second floor."

"Stairway is that way then, in case you've forgotten," she points with her finger.

"Yes, ma'am."

He moves off, unable to help casting another worried glance over his shoulder. The secretary goes into Doctor Cuddy's office, holding her notepad. He knows that this means she will be taking minutes of the meeting, so it's not a casual chat between hospital staff.

He guesses that he will find out soon enough what they are talking about.

* * *

Mr Johnson makes his displeasure at Greg missing exercise on Friday known. He has him do hurdles and then sprints until he is exhausted, head drooping and legs trembling. Then he is told to clean up the equipment and go to the benches and wait for Mr Johnson. Greg slumps in despair but does as he is told and when Mr Johnson comes for him he slips obediently to his knees over the bench. He comes when Mr Johnson fucks him, he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to react at all to what is happening to him but his body betrays him and he comes. He slumps to the ground afterward, feeling both of their semen drying on his body, marking him, he's Mr Johnson's boy in a way that he's not Doctor Cuddy's boy, despite what anyone says.

Mr Johnson has him kneel up and then open his mouth, he places a square of chocolate on his tongue and Greg obediently eats it, it's cheap chocolate, grainy and bitter. He hates it.

To his shame Mrs Foster walks in while he's naked, on his knees and very obviously just been fucked. She sees Mr Johnson feeding him the chocolate and clucks her tongue in disapproval. He hopes she's disapproving of the use Mr Johnson has made of him but that faint hope is taken away when Mr Johnson just grins and gives Greg another piece of the chocolate before telling him to get dressed and get out.

"You'll spoil that boy," is all she says. Greg wonders what she means for a moment and then realizes she is referring to the chocolate, the 'treat' he receives in return for being 'used'.

"Greg, get out and close the door, you can dress in the hall. Then go to my office and wait for me there," Mrs Foster orders him crisply

He glances longingly at the showers, he hasn't had one yet, but knows better than to argue, he gathers his clothes together and goes to stand in the hall.

He can't bear to put his nice clothes back on over his sweat and semen sticky body and the slave bathroom is just down the hall so he goes there. There's no one in there and he grabs some paper towels and wets them, scrubbing the worst of the stickiness off himself before splashing some water on his face and then using more paper to dry himself. He's quick, he doesn't know how long Mrs Foster will be but if questioned he can always say he needed a 'bathroom break'.

A wave of nausea overwhelms him and he leans over the toilet bowl and throws up his 'treats'. Washing his mouth out he then dresses and slips back into the hallway and hurries to Mrs Foster's office, there to kneel in front of her desk and wait for her return.

* * *

After dinner he decides, rather boldly, to go back upstairs to his office. Mrs Foster had informed him brusquely that he was now free to set his own schedule, he could eat whenever the canteen was open, and exercise whenever the exercise field was open. He was still expected to get up at four and go to sleep at eight but other than that his hours and duties would be whatever was agreed between himself and Doctor Cuddy.

He is also allowed to wear his labcoat and rolltop at all times when he is in the main hospital, Mrs Foster emphasized again that he was not to wear them in the basement.

He had felt overwhelmed as he knelt there, and knew that he was staring, open mouthed, at Mrs Foster. He could tell she was not pleased by these new arrangements. He had humbly thanked her and then she'd dismissed him, waving him away as she started cleaning up her desk, ready to go home.

Now he decides to go back to his office to keep reading and revising, rather than lay on his bunk in the basement and do nothing. The dorm has become a silent place for him, he hasn't exchanged a word with any of the slaves since Sunday. Now, his new privileges will single him out even more.

He doesn't care. He unlocks his office and slips inside, leaving the door open as required. He looks at the furniture but doesn't dare to sit on it, no need to push his luck today. Instead he sits on the carpet, in full view of the door, and pulls his book back to him.

He's answered all the questions Doctor Cuddy has set him, and has moved on to correcting the textbook. He doesn't dare deface the book, although that is what he used to do with the library books he found wrong, so he scribbles his corrections on his notepad, annotating them with the page number of the text. Where the book is not wrong, just incomplete, he adds further information, or an alternative view. He wishes he still had his reference library. He usually has journals in several different languages to read, Doctor Cuddy has requested some but they haven't arrived yet.

When he hears someone in the doorway he is startled, normally he keeps a good eye out there but he has been caught up in his work and forgotten. It's Doctor Cuddy and he jumps to his feet, remembering just in time not to kneel. He places his hands behind his back though.

"Why are you sitting on the floor, Greg?"

"Ma'am. I...this slave was instructed he was not to use the furniture. The furniture is for free people," he explains.

She looks angry and he flinches.

"Who told you that?"

"Ma'am...it was a security guard ma'am, when the furniture was delivered."

"And you haven't thought to ask _me_ , not some random security guard?"

"I...this slave...I'm sorry ma'am."

"Put the books on the desk Greg and sit in the damned chair."

He does so quickly and then looks at her again.

"What are you working on, those questions I set you?"

"I have finished those ma'am. I have been correcting the textbook."

"Correcting the..." she looks amused. "You're not writing in the book I hope?"

"No, ma'am." he shakes his head and shows her the notebook.

"Okay. Carry on doing that then. Did Mrs Foster speak to you earlier?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm putting my neck out for you Greg, to make this work. Don't let me down."

"No, ma'am," he pauses, not sure whether to say it or not. "Thank you ma'am, this slave appreciates it."

There is a muffled laugh from someone passing in the hallway and Doctor Cuddy takes a step back to the doorway.

"Get back to work, Greg. I expect to see some good work from you tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaves and he keeps working, barely leaving in time to shower and then make it to the dorm just before it is locked for the night. The security guard doing the locking up gives him a quick slap to the back of his head as he passes.

As usual he's exhausted by the end of his long day and he drifts off to sleep quickly.

_Nurse Previn sends him for a cup of coffee and he gets one for himself as well. He sits down to drink it and she stares at him, knocking the cup out of his hand. The coffee flies out and splashes all over him, staining his new clothes._

* * *

_"Do you like coffee, boy?"_

_He can't say anything, his throat is tight, he shakes his head and stammers no, no no. She signals to someone and two guards grab hold of him and drag him into a cage in the middle of the clinic. They strip him naked and tie him upright, shoving a frame around him to keep him in place. His mouth is forced open and a gag with a feeding funnel inserted into his mouth._

_Doctor Cuddy comes over with her coffee cup and grins at him as she pours the coffee into the funnel. To stop from choking all he can do is keep swallowing the bitter hot liquid. She keeps pouring and pouring._

_"Do you like coffee, boy?"_

_He hears laughter and looks around. All the other slaves, and all the clinic staff are watching him, and the coffee keeps coming and coming and he keeps swallowing and he can't breathe and he can't swallow any more and she keeps laughing, they all keep laughing and then they come and touch him and Mr Johnson is touching him, and he can't move and they keep laughing and the coffee, and its too much and he wants to scream and the coffee keeps coming and he can't move and make it stop make it stop..._

"Shut up, boy!"

He's in the dorm and two security guards are holding him, pulling him to an upright position. His throat is sore, as if he's been screaming, and it's still night and why are they holding him, his heart is pounding and he's scared, he's so scared.

"No, no, no..."

"I said, shut up. You're disturbing the other slaves. You start screaming like that again and you'll get a gag, a sore ass, and a night in the cage."

He looks around and sees the other slaves in their bunks. They must have awoken with the noise but they are all lying with their eyes closed so that they do not see.

He's shaking and covered in sweat, as he becomes more awake he realizes he must have been having a nightmare and calling out.

"Open your mouth, boy."

He stares at them, he doesn't want to be gagged, he'll be good, he doesn't need a gag.

"Open it or I'll open it for you," the guards shakes him and he slowly opens his mouth, trembling with fear.

The other guard puts something on his tongue, it's bitter.

"Swallow that now."

He doesn't know what it is, he doesn't want to swallow it but he knows there is no choice, he forces it down his throat.

"Open your mouth again."

He open his mouth and the guard shines his torch in, checking the pill has gone.

"Now lie down, shut up and go to sleep."

He's dropped back to the bed and as they leave he huddles under his bedclothes. As his mind starts to deaden he realizes the pill was a sedative, so that he would go to sleep and not disturb the other slaves.

He looks over to Jon, but Jon won't open his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

**Day 12 - Tuesday**

He hits the ground with a thump. There's somebody yelling but he can't make out what they're saying, it seems a long way away. He tries to open his eyes but he can't, they're so heavy. He just needs to sleep, the yelling fades away.

He's being moved somewhere, his arms are flung over something and his feet are dragging on the ground. With a huge effort he opens his eyes blearily, the world is all out of focus. He's moving along a corridor.

They're talking, he can hear some words but they don't make sense.

"screaming...waking them all up...had to...dose..."

"...can't work him...no cleaning...Doctor Cuddy..."

"..has to go to that office...she can..."

"...wake him up..."

He's dumped on the ground again and he yelps as his ass hits cold tiles.

Freezing cold water! His eyes snap wide open and he tries to scuttle out of the spray. His neck jerks, he can't move.

Awake now, he looks around, he's in the shower, there's a leash on his collar and the other end is wrapped around the shower head. He's on the floor directly under the spray, it's turned on full and it's freezing. Two guards and a man he recognizes as the night supervisor are staring at him, the guards are grinning, the supervisor looks angry.

"Kneel up, Greg," the supervisor says.

He struggles to the correct kneeling position, his head hanging as the cold water pounds down onto him relentlessly.

"Are you awake now, Greg?"

"Yes, sir," he mumbles, though he's still desperately tired, he can't work out what's wrong, he's not even sure what day or time it is.

"Didn't hear that, Greg."

"Yes, sir!" he says louder, he knows this game. Anything to get out of this water.

The supervisor keeps him waiting a few seconds and then gestures to the guard to turn the water off.

He throws a towel at Greg.

"On your feet and dry off and be quick, you're already late for work."

Greg fumbles the catch, just rescues the towel before it hits the wet ground. Hampered by the leash on his collar he dries himself off quickly and stands shivering, naked in front of them.

The supervisor leans in and unclips the leash from his collar.

"Get out, run up and down the hallway outside five times and then go to the dorm and get your clothes on."

He goes into the hallway and starts running the length of it, one of the other dorms is just being opened up and the slaves are emerging, they look at him curiously but hurry to their work.

He's breathless by the time he gets back to his dorm, the guards are gone but the supervisor is there.

"Get dressed."

He fumbles into his 'good' clothes, his fingers finding it hard to work the fastenings. He goes to put on his rolltop and the supervisor stops him.

"Not that, you've been told Greg, carry it and the coat."

"Yes, sir," he holds the garments and waits, the effects of the cold water and the exercise are wearing off quickly, his eyelids are beginning to droop again.

"Go to work, Greg. Do _not_ fall asleep again."

He makes his way up the stairs sluggishly, he's still not sure what's happened. He just wants to get to his office.

It takes him a few tries to get the key in the lock, by the time he succeeds he's practically asleep on his feet. He stumbles in and goes to sit on the floor but then remembers what Doctor Cuddy said and falls into the chair instead. He's so tired, he decides to just rest his head on the desk for a couple of minutes.

* * *

Somebody touches his shoulder and he starts awake. Sitting up he blinks blearily and sees a security guard standing over him, staring at him, disbelief on his face. Greg rolls of the chair and goes to his knees, landing in almost a puddle instead of the proper position, he stares up at the guard, blinking.

The security guard is pulling at his rolltop and labcoat, wanting to know who told him to wear them. He tells Greg to get them off.

Greg struggles to get the two garments off, telling the guard that Mrs Foster told him he could wear them, he thinks that's right, he dimly remembers her saying that, was it yesterday? Why is his head so thick? He can barely think.

The guard calls another slave in, it's Jon. Jon comes in and kneels correctly. Greg realizes how sloppily he is kneeling and straightens himself up, putting his hands behind his back. He's starting to wake up a little bit and now is starting to worry, he's not sure what the penalty for sleeping during work hours is but he imagines it would involve a cane. He's not sure why the guard isn't yelling at him yet.

Jon tells the guard that Greg's supervisor is Doctor Cuddy, the guard waves Jon away and stares down at Greg.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

 _Let me sleep_ , Greg thinks, _I am so tired_. Even in his half asleep state he knows better than to say it aloud.

"This slave works in the clinic. This slave..." he can't think how to continue so he starts again, keeping it simple, "I need to be there at eight."

"Okay, boy, let's keep you awake. Get your clothes off." Greg looks down at his remaining clothes, he's already taken the rolltop and coat off. " Yeah, all of them. Fold them up there," he gestures to the desk.

Greg reluctantly takes off his remaining clothes, he doesn't want to be fucked, not here in this office, his office.

He sets his clothes carefully on the desk and the guard picks up the alarm clock. He tells Greg to get up and do nothing but walk around the office until the alarm goes off. Greg looks at him blearily, walk?

"Let's see you do it."

Greg stumbles from the door to the window and then back again. He can't make sense of any of this. He has no idea why he's so tired, he's not usually this tired, why does he have to walk, he just wants to go back to sleep.

The guard tells him he can get dressed and go to the clinic when the alarm goes off, Greg has no idea how far away that is, he's not sure if he can stay awake that long.

Suddenly the guard grabs him and spins him around. A heavy hand falls across his butt, right where he's been caned. The skin is still sensitive there and he jumps and yelps.

"Listen up! On your feet, in this office, walking about till the alarm goes off. Then get dressed and go to work. Repeat that."

Greg blinks at him for a second before he realizes what the guard wants.

"On my feet...in here...walk...alarm goes off...get dressed and go to work..." he manages to get out, he thinks it's right, he stares wide eyed at the guard, trying to show he understands, he wants the guard to leave.

The guard tells him he'll be checking on him through the window and if he's not on his feet he'll come in and 'freshen those marks on your ass'. The guards spins him around again and smacks him on the cane marks, hard.

"Stay on your feet and there'll be no more trouble."

The guard leaves and Greg looks down at himself. He's completely naked, except for the collar around his throat. The door is shut but if anyone comes up to the internal window they will be able to see him, naked and walking around his office. Luckily it's early and there aren't many people around at this time but all the same he shivers, feeling a little more awake now. Slowly he starts to walk around the office, staying as far away from the window as he can.

He makes his way down to the clinic slowly. He thinks he managed to stay awake for most of the time in his office, although he's not sure. There was a bit more leaning against walls than there was walking but the guard didn't come in again and when the alarm rang he'd pulled on all his clothes and left the office.

There's a long line of people waiting and he goes straight to Nurse Brenda to report in.

She stares at him.

"You look tired, Greg."

"Yes, ma'am," he yawns.

"Greg, look at me."

He stares at her and she pulls a pen light out of her pocket, shining it in his eyes. He flinches away from the light.

"Greg, did someone give you some medication?"

He blinks at her and tries to think.

"I'm very tired, ma'am."

"Medication Greg, did someone dope you? "

"Um..." he tries to think, yes, he feels like he's been doped, but he can't remember when it might have happened. He thinks harder, remembers being told to open his mouth. A pill being put in his mouth. "Yes ma'am, I think... last night ma'am?"

Nurse Previn looks annoyed.

"I don't need this today, I've only got one doctor."

"I...I'm sorry ma'am...I can.. .I can work."

Nurse Previn grabs hold of his arm and steers him into an exam room.

"Lie down on the table, go to sleep. Don't leave this room."

He gets up on the exam table obediently and closes his eyes.

* * *

He wakes up to the smell of coffee. He bolts upright, feeling uneasy.

"Wake up, Greg. You should have slept it off by now. Coffee. Sandwich. Eat. Drink."

Brenda is sitting on the exam room stool watching him and he sits up. There's a cup of black coffee next to him, and a sandwich.

He sits up slowly, still feeling foggy.

"What's your name?"

He looks up startled.

"Greg," he says cautiously, not sure if it's a trap.

"And where are you?"

"The clinic ma'am...Nurse Previn."

"And who is the president?"

He actually has to think about that one, current events seem far removed since he was enslaved, he wonders if he will ever vote again, or read a newspaper. Nurse Previn is waiting so he answers, recognizing the standard test of mental alertness.

"You were 'disruptive' in the dorm last night, I presume that means you had a nightmare. They dosed you with .25 milligrams of Triazolam around midnight."

Greg takes a bite of his sandwich. He doesn't really remember, either the nightmare or the dosing, but he doesn't like the idea of being given medication without his consent. Triazolam is nasty stuff, not something he'd normally recommend as sedation.

"Drink the coffee, Greg and then you can help me clean up, it was a madhouse today, I only had one doctor here."

"I'm sorry, Nurse Previn."

He takes a sip of his coffee, it's hot and strong, he doesn't really want it.

After he finishes the cup of coffee and the sandwich Nurse Previn sets him to cleaning up the exam rooms while she watches him. He's still tired but he can think now at least.

When Doctor Cuddy comes in they discuss him, as if he can't hear them. Doctor Cuddy wants to give him Phenytoin but Nurse Previn tells her he just needs work, food and coffee. Doctor Cuddy is concerned about memory problems, one of the side effects of Triazolam but Nurse Previn reports he checked out okay.

"I'll keep pouring coffee into him," Nurse Previn says and Greg freezes. He stares up at them, a sudden image of being strapped into the 'addictions cage' comes into his mind, coffee being poured through a funnel into his mouth, he doesn't know where the thought has come from but it's scary.

They're looking at him with concern and they back away towards the doorway where he can't hear them, talking together in low tones. He starts trembling in fear, wondering what they are planning for him. Finally Doctor Cuddy hands something to Nurse Previn and leaves.

Nurse Previn looks at him, holding the object out to him.

"Looks like you have another sandwich, Greg. I'll get you some more coffee, keep working while you eat."

When she leaves he tentatively picks up his second sandwich of the day.

They won't tie him up and pour coffee down his throat, he's almost sure of that.

* * *

At a quarter to two Nurse Previn tells him to finish up and follow her. She leads him to a lecture theater in another wing, he hasn't been here before. He looks at the closed door and wonders nervously what this is all about.

"Doctor Cuddy will meet you here shortly, Greg. Just wait for her, don't kneel, just stand quietly by the door."

"Yes, Nurse Previn. Why..."

"That's for Doctor Cuddy to tell you. One more thing Greg, Suzanne Riley came back in today, while you were sleeping."

He's confused, he doesn't know who that is, or why she would be telling him this. He's more focused on wondering why they have come here, what Doctor Cuddy is going to want him to do.

"She's the lady you diagnosed with lung cancer on Saturday."

Oh, lung cancer lady.

"She had an x-ray. She doesn't have lung cancer, she does however have a benign calcified lung node. You were right to say she should be checked out. The care of the patients in the clinic is my number one concern Greg, I'm not interested in being popular, or playing hospital politics, or playing silly games with slaves, I am interested in the welfare of the patients who trust us with their lives. I'll be glad to have you working there, when you have your license back."

He just stares at her, not sure what to say.

"Wait here for Doctor Cuddy."

"Yes, Nurse Previn, and...thank you."

She smiles briefly.

"You're welcome, Greg."

* * *

Greg stands in front of Doctor Cuddy, listening to her words nervously. He's feeling more awake than he has at any point in the day, now he's terrified.

"I've invited all the eligible residents and fellowship doctors to come and hear about the job. I'll be introducing them to you, and explaining what you are and what you'll be doing. There'll be questions. You need to appear as professional as you can, absolutely no kneeling, no sir or ma'am, do you understand Greg?"

"Yes, ma'am...Doctor Cuddy. But..."

"No buts, Greg. You need to do this. They need to see that this a serious position, and that you have something to teach them. The hospital paid a lot of money for you and you need to start showing you can do the job we bought you for." Doctor Cuddy looks at her watch. "Okay, they'll be here soon, come inside."

He follows her reluctantly into the lecture theater, it has tiered seating, with a small stage area at front. She walks up there and indicates a chair at the back of the stage, next to an old upright piano. He feels a sudden pang of regret at the loss of his old piano in his otherwise unlamented apartment. Music has always been his friend, sometimes his sole companion, now it is yet another thing he has lost.

"You sit there for now, Greg."

As he sits down the doctors start to file into the room, his gaze sweeps over them, he recognizes a couple, from the clinic, the rest are new to him. They all look at him as they sit down and he fidgets nervously. When Doctor Cuddy begins speaking he stares at her, intent on what she is saying.

She outlines the position briefly, gives information about the dates of application, and the method of applying and then warns them that it isn't a soft option, away from their usual studies but a chance to participate in the foundation of a new medical specialty.

The way she puts that terrifies him, it was one thing to write up a theoretical paper, of how things could be done, another to found a whole new specialty, and another thing entirely to do it with a collar around his neck. He stares at Doctor Cuddy, wondering how she thinks this can possibly work.

Doctor Cuddy is introducing him, expounding upon his studies at John Hopkins and Michigan, about his double specialties of nephrology and infectious diseases. She even makes reference to some papers he wrote in his previous postings, of his high regard in both fields. He listens, amazed, as she relates his virtues, (she actually uses the word 'genius'), refers to his ability to diagnose the most difficult cases, his achievement of medical honors at a young age. For Greg it is like she is talking of someone else, even when he was free no one talked about him in such terms, it was more like he was something undesirable they'd scraped off the bottom of a shoe.

Then she tells them he was enslaved for debt. He shivers, she's said that before and it's true but every time she says it it's like a knife going into a raw wound. _Enslaved for debt_ , how could he have let that happen? He remembers the booze, the gambling, the drugs, living on the edge and thinking he didn't care. Ignoring the letters of demand, the warnings, he'd had plenty of time to turn things around, and _he'd done nothing_. He'd let them come for him, take him away, strip him of everything he owned, everything he was, everything he could be and turn him into this. He let them put a collar around his neck and call him a slave.

He will never forgive himself for letting that happen.

He can feel all their eyes on him, condemning him for his mistakes.

His head snaps up again as Doctor Cuddy begins to outline exactly how his supervision of a fellow will work.

The fellow will have to behave as if he is 'Doctor House', not a slave. He will supervise them, he will teach them, they will be required to address him respectfully and obey his orders. He can report them for inappropriate behavior, and he will have the right to fire them, as well as having input into who is hired for the position.

It's so much more than he expected, more than he could have hoped for. In the Diagnostics department he will be, in effect, Doctor House again. Not to be treated as a slave, not to be called 'boy' and ordered to make coffee, to clean, to pick up spilled objects.

Doctor Cuddy must know how surprising her words are to those assembled, she tells them if they cannot conceive of working for him under those conditions they should leave now.

His eyes sweep the theater, he sees Doctor Jenkins, the doctor from the clinic who'd thought it funny to have a slave pick up whatever he dropped on the floor, start to get up and then look around and change his mind. A few others stir in their seats but to Greg's surprise none of them get up and walk out.

"Excellent. I have the lecture theater booked till four, but for various reasons I shall have to bring this to a close at quarter to. Doctor House's presentation should last no more than an hour, and he will then answer whatever relevant questions you may have. Doctor House, please come forward."

He seizes up when she says 'Doctor House's presentation.' She hasn't mentioned this to him, hasn't told him he would be presenting anything.

She's looking at him,waiting, so he stands up and moves to the front of the stage, near the projector. She hands him two typescripts,

"The Diagnostic's Department - Form and Function, and Thoughts on Diagnostics as a Specialty. Doctor House."

He glances down and sees they are the papers he's written.

He stands there with them in his hands and then Doctor Cuddy walks out the door. It's so sudden that he freezes again.

_She walked out the door._

He's alone, with his papers and a roomful of hostile doctors.

He holds the papers tightly in his hands, and looks out at the room. He has no idea what to do. What does Doctor Cuddy want him to do? He fights the urge to sink to his knees, in front of all these free people.

The audience begins murmuring to themselves and Doctor Jenkins giggles, a silly sound from a grown man. Greg looks at him. The man is a fool - even the other staff of the clinic recognized that, he'd heard them talking. A foolish boy of a man, so insecure he thinks that giving a slave silly orders is showing how powerful he is. He doesn't even know what Jenkins is doing here, he's not qualified for this position.

He puts the papers down and says quietly, but clearly.

"What are you doing here?"

Jenkins just stares at him, his foolish grin frozen on his face.

"What - are - you - doing - here?" The words comes out louder, each distinct.

Jenkins looks around, as if seeking help from his friends, when there is none there he retreats into aggression and Greg knows that he will win this.

"You talking to me - Doctor House?"

"Applications for Diagnostics fellowships are open only to those who've completed their term of residency, you are just barely not an intern. You won't be eligible to apply for a fellowship for another ten months."

Jenkins looks astonished, as if he didn't know where Greg had got this information - did he think Greg hadn't been listening to the conversations of the staff while he was in the clinic, or that he hadn't been paying attention?

Greg raises his voice a little, knowing he has to make this count. This is his chance to show them that he isn't a meek slave, that he is Doctor Gregory House, and if they are awarded this fellowship he will be their boss.

"And even if you are eligible, I wouldn't have you: not because you're lazy, not because you're rude, and not because you're a hog."

There is an instant of silence and then a nervous titter sweeps through the audience, Jenkins face reddens but Greg presses on, he is making an enemy here but he doesn't care.

"Of course you're all of the above, but that's no reason not to hire you, so long as you buy your own donuts. Because you were stupid enough to waste your time coming along to a job opportunity that you weren't qualified to apply for. You can waste your own time as much as you like, but I'm not interested in having someone working for me who'll waste _my_ time. Get out."

Greg keeps staring at Jenkins, waiting for the moron to make a move. Jenkins just sits there, looking astonished, mouth hanging open. There are snickers from the audience, Greg was right, the man wasn't popular with his peers. Finally Jenkins settles back in his seat and waves, in what is probably supposed to be a casual gesture.

"Okay, let's hear what else you've got to say, 'Doctor House'."

All his anger comes out, all the months of being dismissed as nothing more than a piece of furniture, all the slights, all the blows, everything. He might be a slave but he is a better doctor than this man, and this is his presentation, his department, and his fellowship and he has a right to chuck this man out of here.

He opens his mouth and yells, letting it all come out in his voice.

" _Get out!_ "

He sees several of the doctors in the audience flinch but his gaze doesn't waver from his prey. Jenkins looks around, maybe looking for people to back him up but there is no support for him. Slowly, very slowly, he gets up and walks down towards the stage. Greg forces himself to stand firm, not to step back. As he passes the projector Jenkins deliberately brushes the papers, sending them spilling to the floor, their pages scattering.

Jenkins pauses, staring at Greg, an unspoken command in his eyes - 'pick those up, slave'. Greg ignores them and says again, quieter this time, but just as firmly - 'get out'.

Jenkins goes, the door closing behind him in an angry slam that rocks the hall.

Greg takes a deep breath and glances at the papers, still on the floor. He can bend down and pick them all up and lose his audience, lose the moment. He won't, he wrote those papers, he knows what they say, he knows what he wants to say to these potential applicants.

"The first principle of diagnostics : everybody lies."

He speaks coolly and crisply, illustrating his point with example, showing the analogy between diagnostic work and detective work, explaining how their approach will be to examine not only the patient, but the patient's environment, his family, his life, at all times bearing in mind the first principle of diagnostics. They will take chances, they will deal on the medical edge, there will be deaths, there will be mistakes. They will search for the answers to puzzles and sometimes they will be wrong. They will be looking for zebras when all others see only horses.

He knows he has them, they are staring at him, intently taking in his words, some are making notes. A couple of doctors sneak into the theater during his presentation, both are older doctors, not candidates, they don't interrupt, they just listen, one of them begins to nod along.

He talks for an hour as Cuddy had said, speeding up his delivery to fit it in, then he throws the floor open for questions.

Of course the first question is a smart ass one, how much did he cost, from Doctor Campbell who had also been in the clinic one day, not a moron like Jenkins but he had obviously had no time for a slave 'pretending' to be a doctor.

He sidesteps the question but Campbell insists, equating his 'worth' with how likely the hospital is to abandon this 'experiment' and sell him if it doesn't work out.

Greg pauses, thinking of being sold and then dismisses the question - referring him to Doctor Cuddy. He won't allow them to derail this into questions of his slave status - that's irrelevant to the diagnostic process.

Doctor Bergeron asks about the 'lung cancer' patient he'd seen in the clinic, obviously still smarting from the implication that he'd missed something with the patient, which indeed he had. Greg answers his questions succinctly, pointing out the symptoms that Bergeron had missed. Admitting to his own mistake, that it had not been lung cancer, they'd both been wrong but Greg had looked further. Bergeron sits back with a frown on his face, obviously considering his points.

Other people ask about how he will choose the fellowship doctor, what specialties would be better. He has no idea himself, he's never done this before either. They're astonished by him admitting that the selection might as well be random at this stage. If he has no useful input into hiring a fellow why is Doctor Cuddy going to ask him his opinion, they ask.

"Because I cost a lot of money," he says,. "And let's face it, when you buy an expensive piece of equipment, you really just want to use it, don't you?"

Then he grins, showing all his teeth, it's humorless, pure bravado on his part, putting a positive spin on something he hates.

There's a collective intake of breath when he refers to himself as a 'piece of equipment' and he knows he succeeded, he made them see him as a human being for one moment, rather than equipment. When he acknowledges the truth they are shocked by it.

The door opens at that moment and Doctor Cuddy returns, calling the presentation to a close. He knows why, it's time for his exercise. Time to become a slave again.

They file out, one or two pause by him, as if wanting to say something but they glance at Doctor Cuddy and leave. When the last of them are gone he slumps back against the projector.

"You might have warned me," he says mildly.

Doctor Cuddy shrugs.

"The only way to find out if someone can swim, Greg, is to throw them in the water. I take it you didn't drown?" She looks at the papers on the floor.

"No, I didn't drown," he bends down and shuffles the papers into a pile and hands them back to her. "You meant what you said, before, about my having the ability to fire them, and that they must treat me as 'Doctor House'?"

"Of course, it's the only way it can work," she says calmly. "Now, if you are going to get your exercise in before five you need to go do it now."

He doesn't want to go 'exercise' - not after what he's just done, what he's accomplished. He opens his mouth to ask her if he can skip it, to _beg_ her permission. Then he stops. He's done begging for things.

* * *

He goes to the benches near the exercise field and begins to strip off. Mr Johnson is there, looking at him angrily but he knows he's done nothing wrong. He's been told he can set his own exercise time, and there's still an hour to five. He hopes that Mr Johnson will be in a hurry to leave and won't stop to fuck him today.

"Don't you have something to say to me, boy?"

"No, Mr Johnson, it's just gone four, I have an hour for exercise," he says it firmly but respectfully but Mr Johnson's face darkens further.

"You're late. I like to be finished with clean-up well before five." Mr Johnson turns him around and smacks his ass, hard. "Don't talk back to me, boy. Get out there and do laps."

He tells Greg to do twenty-five laps of the muddy field. Greg runs out onto the field without a word. As he starts to run around the field he notices that Jon is cleaning off the hurdles and other equipment. Looks like Mr Johnson has picked him to help him 'clean-up' today. Greg feels a moment of sympathy for the other slave and then shrugs it off, as long as it isn't _him_.

It starts to rain lightly as he runs around the field, chilling him and making the ground even more muddy. It's miserable running around in a field naked in the rain like this, the mud starts to splatter up his legs and the rain drips through his hair. His moment of triumph in the lecture room seems a distant memory now but the feeling of confidence remains, he _can_ do this, and he'll endure whatever they throw at him down here in the basement. They may have broken him at the Center but he's mending himself, he's getting better.

When he's done twenty five laps he staggers back towards the doors, exhausted. Mr Johnson stops him and tells him to stand with his legs and arms spread. He fetches the hose and sprays it at Greg, playing it over his body, washing the mud off and soaking him with the freezing water. He turns him around and plays the cold stream across his ass, and down between his legs. Greg is shivering by the time the hose is switched off and Mr Johnson grins.

"Good slaves get hot water, you want to be a good slave, right?", he pushes him in the direction of the door, smacking his ass again as he passes. "On your knees, over the bench."

Greg freezes, he's cold, exhausted and he thought he'd been spared this. He doesn't want to do this. He might be a slave but it doesn't mean he has to let this man rape him, not again. They might punish him for it but that's all they can do.

Mr Johnson is moving towards him, his fists clenched, his face angry.

"Did you hear me, boy? Over the bench."

"I don't have to," Greg says and bends down to pick up his clothes from the bench.

Mr Johnson's foot crashes into his jaw, the pain is instant, he falls to the ground, feeling his mouth fill with blood. His jaw is throbbing, he thinks it might be broken. As he lies there, half dazed, Johnson follows the kick up with another one to his ribs, and then one to his thigh. Greg curls up instinctively, making himself a small target. He makes no attempt to hit out himself just huddles on the floor as Johnson hits him again and again. There are no more blows on his face, but his arms and legs are kicked and punched.

The beating doesn't last long, the blows stop and he chances a look up to see Johnson looking at his watch and frowning. He leaves without another word, without even stopping to check what damage he has done, leaving Greg bleeding on the ground.

Greg stays huddled up, now the blows have stopped falling he can start to assess the damage. He knows he'll have bruises all over his torso but his breathing is fine, no damage to his ribs. The most concern is his jaw, there's still blood dripping onto the floor. He gingerly probes around his mouth with his tongue, noting that a tooth has broken off, that's probably the source of the blood. His jaw is sore but he can move it, he doesn't think there's a break.

He lies there for a while, wondering if he is supposed to be making his own way back inside, before a security guard comes out.

The guard quickly checks him over, which seems to mostly consist of checking to see whether Greg is still conscious and breathing. Satisfied on that score he cuffs Greg's wrists together and clips a leash onto his collar, fastening the other end to the bench.

Greg wants to ask the guard where he thinks Greg might go if he's not restrained but he doesn't have enough energy to deal with the consequences so instead he lets his head fall back and waits. He imagines that someone might send medical help to deal with the bleeding slave, when they're not too busy.

A harried ER intern shows up, with a couple of orderlies pushing a gurney.

The intern leans over him, studying his face.

"You're a mess, get into a fight did you? What's your name, boy?"

"Greg," he answers briefly, it hurts to talk, and there's no point explaining that this wasn't a fight, it was a beating.

The intern looks surprised.

"Greg? You're the slave Doctor Cuddy bought for...the clinic? That Greg?"

"Yes."

"Okay, well we'd better get you fixed up then hadn't we?"

The intern checks him out briefly, then they lift him onto the gurney and start to wheel him away. Every move bumps his bruised body and sets his jaw throbbing, he moans in pain as they transfer him.

Mrs Foster comes out as they are wheeling him down the hallway inside the basement.

"How much damage is there? Doctor Cuddy would like to know," she asks, eying him impersonally. He's still naked of course, and they haven't bothered with a blanket to cover him up.

"Sure - it's pretty superficial, bruises and contusions. The worst thing is his mouth. I want to have his jaw x-rayed. What happened, someone kick him in the face?"

Yes, Greg wants to say, they did. It's pointless to say it though so he keeps quiet as he's wheeled away.

He's taken to radiology where the scandalized nurse throws a blanket over him to spare the eyes of the free people and he's wheeled into a corner, out of the way. There's a few other people waiting and he thinks he'll be here for a while, there's no way a bleeding slave will be given priority.

His hands are still cuffed together and his leash is wrapped around the gurney, he assumes he's been marked as 'dangerous' - for getting into a 'fight'. A guard has come with them to radiology and the intern talks to him now.

"I'll leave him with you, he needs to get that jaw x-rayed. Then bring him and the results back to the ER to the slave treatment room, we'll check him over there but it all looks fairly superficial. He'll just be a bit sore tomorrow."

The intern leaves and the guard wanders over to the nurse's desk, flirting with her while Greg lies quietly on his gurney, trying not to move, he is still in pain and nobody had bothered to offer him any pain killers, or even basic first aid for his bruises. He closes his eyes and tries to rest, it's been a long day.

He's surprised when the guard comes back to him and starts pushing him in the direction of the x-ray room.

"Doctor Cuddy is _real_ concerned about your mouth, boy. You must be very talented," the guard smirks at him. "She doesn't want you to lose any _function_ in that department, called to bump you up the queue."

Oh, well maybe being 'Doctor Cuddy's boy' did have some advantages after all.

After the x-ray he's taken to the slave treatment room off the ER, the manacles on the bed are fitted around his wrists once the cuffs are taken off, the blanket is removed. The same harried intern sees to him.

"X-ray looks good, there's a broken tooth. We'll just extract that. The rest is just bruises, a few small cuts nothing needing stitching, your scalp lac is looking good - you going to make a habit of coming to the ER?"

The intern laughs at his own joke, and starts getting things ready. He produces a set of head blocks and places them either side of Greg's head.

"Wh...what are you doing?" Greg asks, not liking the feeling of having blocks either side of his head.

"I need your head held still so I can get the tooth out."

"I won't move."

"You won't move because your head will be taped."

The intern produces a roll of tape and tapes Greg's forehead to the blocks, and the blocks to the exam table. Greg tries to move his head and finds it completely immobile. He swallows down his fear, having his head strapped down like this is a reminder of the time he spent in the 'addictions cage' - his head was immobilized there as well.

The intern rolls a stool over and tells him to open his mouth, Greg reluctantly does so and the intern slips a medical gag into his mouth before he can react, using the ratchet on the side of the device to lever his jaws apart so his mouth is held wide open. Greg tries to protest but all that comes out are muffled sounds and drool, the intern tells him sharply to be quiet and hold still or he won't bother with an anesthetic. Greg goes silent, trying to ignore the fact that he is completely at the mercy of this doctor.

The intern sets to work on the tooth. Greg's given a cursory amount of numbing agent, and the intern only allows the minimum amount of time for it work. The intern isn't very skilled or practiced and Greg's pain sky rockets while the procedure is performed. Finally the root of the tooth is out and Greg's mouth is released from the gag, and his head is unstrapped. The intern gives him a glass of water to rinse his mouth out and he does so. His tongue feels for the gap in his teeth, a gap that will always be there, reminding him of this day.

Once the tooth is extracted the guard comes back for him and escorts him down to the basement, hands still cuffed in front of him, still naked. He's led to Mrs Foster's office and pushed to his knees.

"Thank you, you can take the cuffs off now and leave us."

Greg half expects to be ordered to bend over her desk, to be caned. He's sure Mr Johnson has briefed her on what happened, telling her Greg said 'no'.

"Open your mouth, Greg," she orders and he complies, thinking she wants to check his tooth. Instead she puts two tablets in his mouth and, giving him a bottle of water, tells him to swallow them.

He recognizes them as simple Tylenol so he obediently swallows them down. They'll probably do next to nothing for the pain he's in but they're all he's likely to get.

Afterward she checks his mouth to make sure he's swallowed them and then dismisses him.

"Go have a shower and then go straight to the dorm and stay there. This does not excuse you from work tomorrow, you'll follow your usual routine. "

It's his normal showering time and he lets the hot water play over his sore body, he can see the other slaves watching him, taking in the bruises that are beginning to bloom all over his torso. He knows his face is swollen and bruised. None of them say anything to him and when he goes back to the dorm he collapses on his bunk, pulling the covers up over himself.

Despite the pain he's in he smiles to himself.

Today was a good day, today he won.


	14. Chapter 14

**Day 13 – Wednesday**

When he wakes up he aches all over. His mouth is tender, his face feels bruised and swollen. When he moves there are little stabs of pain from his body, reminding him of the beating he took yesterday. He gets out of bed and starts to slowly pull on his clothes, wincing as he does so. The other slaves ignore him as usual and they are all gone by the time he makes his way out the door.

"You boy, supervisor wants to see you. Run, boy, what do you think this is? A holiday camp?"

The security guard checking their dorm for stragglers sends him on his way with a clip on the back of his head which does nothing for Greg's pain level. He reluctantly breaks into a trot and goes to the supervisor's office. There he kneels on the floor and waits for the man to look up from his paperwork. It's the same supervisor who had given him the cold shower to wake him up yesterday and he doesn't look pleased to be bothered with Greg again.

He comes around the desk and stands in front of Greg, holding two tablets in his hand.

He reaches down and taps Greg on the jaw, where they always did it in the Center to make the slaves open their mouths. Greg's jaw falls open in reflex and the supervisor chucks the tablets towards the back of his throat. Greg gulps them down and the supervisor holds a bottle of water for him to drink from and wash them down. He opens his mouth again and the supervisor checks it to make sure the tablets are gone.

"Okay, off you go, and tomorrow I want to see you come out of your dorm first, not last. You weren't bought so you could lie around in bed."

"No, sir. Sorry, sir."

He makes his slow painful way upstairs, slipping into his office quietly. He goes to sit on the floor but as he bends down he remembers and sits on his chair instead, pulling the books piled on the desk towards him.

He's finished all the questions Doctor Cuddy set him on Monday, and he's been busy writing out corrections and suggestions for changes in the textbooks she'd gotten for him from the library. He picks up the next book.

* * *

Nurse Previn stares at him as he comes into the clinic.

"What happened to your face, Greg?"

He decides to tell her the truth, well some of it anyway. He hasn't done anything wrong.

"The exercise supervisor kicked me in the face, Nurse Previn."

"Kicked you in the face...Why?"

"I didn't do something he wanted me to do."

She narrows her eyes at him, obviously debating whether to ask the next logical question but then shakes her head.

"This is totally unacceptable, first yesterday and now this, you need to be fit for work when you come here."

"I can work, Nurse Previn."

"Well Doctor Cuddy wants you in her office by nine anyway, so it won't be for long. But its not a professional look for the clinic to have someone on the desk who looks like they've been beaten up. You can go to the storeroom, tidy it up and make a note of anything we're running short of."

"Doctor Cuddy's office?" he queries. He wonders why she wants to see him this morning. He thinks about the lecture yesterday, his throwing Doctor Jenkins out of the theater. Has there been some sort of fallout for that? He escaped any sort of censure yesterday for it, or for the incident with Mr Johnson, but he knows that doesn't mean it's forgotten.

"She hasn't told you?" Nurse Previn smiles. "Oh well, it'll be a surprise then, now go and get to work."

He goes to the storeroom and starts tidying the shelves. As he looks at the array of bandages, creams and ointments and other medical paraphernalia he thinks that Kev and Jon and the rest of the slaves would love to get in here. If they realized he had access to all this he would never hear the end of them badgering him to steal some. Well they can just get fucked, he's not interested in making friends down there, the less he has to do with them the better.

He busies himself with tidying and stacking and tries not to worry about why Doctor Cuddy wants to see him.

* * *

Doctor Cuddy has him sit down and open his mouth so she can check his teeth. She asks him a few medical questions about his injuries and he assures her that there is no permanent damage.

"I will be looking into this further, Greg. You are not here for people to beat you up. Now let's have a look at what you've been doing before we go."

He hands over his notebook and she glances over his 'homework' in a cursory fashion. She shows more interest in his book corrections.

"You can write this up and I'll send it to the editor of the book. If we can get your name on a few textbooks that would be good for the hospital. This may only be a small hospital Greg, but now that we own you I'm going to make it a very well known one. You're going to put this hospital on the map."

She puts the notes down and goes to a small closet in her office.

"Here, I got these for you to wear today. I went to the same place where we got your other clothes so they should fit."

She hands him over a jacket and matching pants.

"You'll have to wear the rolltop rather than a shirt but at least it looks a bit more professional."

He holds the suit in his hands, staring at it. Why has she brought him this?

"Come on, put it on, we need to get going."

"Wh..where are we going, Ma'am?" he asks.

"To Trenton. And I need you to look like a doctor so put that on."

He takes off his labcoat and slips the jacket on, it fits well. He bends down to take off his shoes, wondering if she wants him to strip off his jeans here, in front of her. It's not like he's not used to being naked now but he's oddly reluctant to be standing in only his underwear in front of Doctor Cuddy.

She seems to realize why he's hesitating, "I'll just wait outside," she says and leaves the office. Quickly he finishes taking off his shoes and jeans and puts the pants on. When she comes back into the office he's just doing up his shoes.

"Good, let me look at you."

He stands uneasily while she looks him over. She frowns at his face.

"You look like you've been in a bar fight."

"Sorry ma'am."

"You'll have to do, at least your clothes look smart."

Doctor Cuddy picks up a pair of handcuffs from the desk, and her purse.

"Follow me Greg, I'll put these on you at the car."

He follows behind her meekly.

She puts the handcuffs on him as they go towards the car. They're tight and uncomfortable on his wrists but better than the shackles, and much better than being walked on the end of a leash. As they approach the car his stomach tightens in anticipation. The security guard who had seen Sheila hitting him is there, obviously their escort for their trip. Since that incident the guard had come into the diagnostics office several times, and conducted 'inspections' of Greg which had consisted of stripping all his clothes off and running his hands all over, and inside, his body. The guard doesn't look pleased to see him today.

The guard addresses Doctor Cuddy, asking her if she wants Greg put in the trunk, where he can be 'fastened down more securely'. Greg looks at the trunk and stiffens, he could barely fit in there, surely the man can't be serious?

To his relief Doctor Cuddy tells him to get in the back of the car and he does so. The guard leans in and secures the seatbelt very tightly around him, casually leaning his palm into Greg's groin with all his weight behind it. As Greg squirms he tightens the seatbelt even further and leans back, telling Greg not to undo it or he _will_ be put in the trunk.

Greg nods and keeps quiet. He has no intention of undoing the belt. What is he going to do? Throw himself out of the car?

When they get to their destination Cuddy unsnaps his seatbelt, takes off the handcuffs and tells him to follow her, saying they have time for coffee before ten. The guard is left behind with the car, when Greg glances at him the guard is staring at him with anger. Greg quirks a small smile. _He's_ going to have coffee with Doctor Cuddy, the guard is apparently staying with the car. Small victories are worth taking.

She leads him into the building and to a small cafe, gesturing for him to take a seat, he glances around, he's wearing the concealing rolltop but he still expects to be exposed as a slave and ordered out. Nothing happens though, so he sits down.

"Thank you ma'am", he murmurs, and means it. Just sitting here having coffee, in a tiny little coffee shop, it's so far from his existence of the last few months that it's like being in a different world. The slave basement of the hospital seems far away from here.

He's vaguely aware of Doctor Cuddy ordering them both food, he keeps his eyes down in the hopes that the server won't wonder why the guy wearing the rolltop has a bulge around his throat.

"You're here to complete some tests to get your medical license reactivated." Doctor Cuddy says as soon as the server walks away. He jerks his head up, staring at her in shock.

"When did you last have painkillers?" Doctor Cuddy asks and he tells her it was around quarter past four, surprised that she asks.

She sounds sympathetic when she remarks that this must seem like the middle of his day. It's the first time he can remember her acknowledging what a long work day he has, maybe she is beginning to see him as a human being rather than just a piece of medical equipment to be used.

"From now on, until you get into the car to go home, you may not call anyone - including me - ma'am or sir. Don't kneel, don't be slavish - you know what I mean. You're here as a medical professional, taking standard tests for a re-instatement of your license. There's a written exam in the morning which may be followed by an oral exam in the afternoon. You'll take the written tests, you'll pass them easily - we'll go have lunch somewhere nice, and unless you have to take the oral as well, we'll go home. Your license should be re-activated by Friday."

He looks at her, still in shock from the sudden announcement. Exams. Well he can do those, he's always been able to do exams. Whatever trouble he might have had with them in medical school was only because he was usually rolling up to them with a hangover, or worse. Or sometimes he blew them just for the sake of it, for the drama. Well, he won't blow these. He'll be a doctor again by Friday. He won't need the orals, it sounds like they only give that if the written tests are marginal and his won't be.

His food is put in front of him, a muffin and black coffee. He stares at the muffin, thinking about his sore mouth. He was given a special mushy breakfast this morning that resembled baby food. Well he doesn't want that but he doesn't want a muffin either, chewing is out.

"Do you understand me, Greg? You don't have to ask me for permission to drink the coffee, or eat the muffin you can just act like a normal person, until we have to go home."

A 'normal' person, someone who isn't a slave. Someone who's allowed to ask for what they want. He clears his throat.

"Could I have something else to eat?" he asks.

Doctor Cuddy looks surprised but then smiles at him.

"Of course, Greg. What do you want?"

He orders a three egg cheese omelet, no toast and orange juice. For good measure he spoons two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee. He wonders if that is more 'normal'.

Doctor Cuddy orders the food for him and he's surprised to see her grinning, for a moment she looks like the Lisa Cuddy he knew in medical school, rather than the stern hospital administrator. He relaxes, this is going to be okay.

He wolfs the omelet down, it's a mile better than cereal with vegetable puree crap on it. Real food. It's a little tricky with his sore mouth but he eats on the other side and clears his plate. She gives him two more Tylenol, puts them in his hand rather than chucks them in his mouth. She doesn't tell him to open his mouth so she can check it. He drinks his orange juice, savoring every sip.

Then they go to the testing room.

* * *

It's a familiar environment. A room with no decoration except for one clock on the wall, loudly ticking. There's a pile of desks and chairs shoved to one side and one lone one set up in the middle of the empty floor. The invigilator wears the usual stern expression and has the usual robotic instructions. He can have a bottle of water, pencils and pens, he's to leave his rolltop and jacket to one side.

Doctor Cuddy protests about the clothes but the invigilator just points out that they all know he is a slave, no need to hide it. Then Doctor Cuddy is told to take him to the bathroom.

While he's in the bathroom he sees a couple of quarters on the ground. Shrugging to himself he picks them up, there's some vending machines in the hospital, maybe he can help himself to something one day, once he's working properly. He slips them in his jacket pocket, he'll find a good hiding place for them once he's back in the hospital. Quickly he finishes up and goes back outside where Doctor Cuddy is waiting for him.

He takes his place at the table, and stares at the paper already there. It has his ID number on it, the number on his collar - 56025498378. Not his name, his number. Well, he'll make them change that one day, he _will_ be known as Doctor Greg House again.

When he's told to begin he flips through the questions quickly, it's long answers and he has to do five out of the seven. They're all fairly basic, nothing he'll have any trouble with.

He smiles to himself and begins to write. For just a second he thinks about writing it all in Spanish, or maybe Japanese but quickly squashes the impulse, this is no time to take chances, he'll be a doctor again by Friday.

He has to ask for another answer book and fills that one up too, leaving nothing to chance he elaborates on every answer, showing alternatives, exploring every side of the issues presented. He thinks it's the best paper he's ever written, certainly it's the neatest. He doesn't want to give them any excuse to fail him.

The multiple choice questions are easy, he can fill in the answers as quickly as he can read them. He gets to the end, has a final check through of everything and can't see the point in wasting time - he's the only one here. Maybe he'll get bonus points for speed.

He calls out to the invigilator. "I'm finished."

She looks at him, humorless to the end.

"Candidates are reminded that they may not speak in the examination hall," she intones, straight from the textbook.

He shrugs, makes a point of looking around the room at the empty space and sits back, folding his arms behind his head, stretching them out. He still hurts, but the feeling of satisfaction overrides it, he's aced this test - he knows it. They won't need the orals, they can go and get a nice lunch, and by Friday he'll be a doctor again.

* * *

She takes him to a nice little Italian restaurant. The guard fumes the whole way, insisting on putting the handcuffs back on him even for the short trip and then savagely taking them off again when they arrive. The guard is not invited to come into the restaurant he notices.

They go in and nobody calls him out for being a slave, they're shown to a table and it's almost like they're on a date. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom and that's almost normal too. He's by himself for a moment, in a crowded restaurant, nobody knows he's a slave. For one minute he eyes the back door, thinking of running, but he knows if he does, and if he's caught, which he would be, things will go much worse for him. Better to hang on, to work his way into a better position at the hospital. He's getting there, it'll get better, he'll make them see him a doctor first and a slave second. He goes back out to the restaurant and smiles slightly at Doctor Cuddy's obvious look of relief. The possibility of him escaping must have occurred to her too.

He sits back down and dredges up some small talk from his memory, asking her what is good here. He wants the risotto but she says no, they haven't time, he has to go back for the oral exam.

He sits there stunned, he knows he's passed the written test, he shouldn't have to do the oral. She'd said _maybe_ , maybe he'd have to do one. As she explains he realizes she's known all along that he had to do the oral, regardless of how he did on the written. She'd known, and lied to him. All her good humor this morning, her sympathetic questions and looks. All an act, just to bolster him up for the tests. The good clothes, the coffee shop, even this restaurant, everything she'd done for him she'd done to give him confidence for the oral test this afternoon. She'd manipulated him and he'd been so eager to believe that she could treat him as an equal, as a peer, that he'd fallen for it.

"It's just one more step, and then you're home free - you can work as a doctor again." Doctor Cuddy tells him.

'Home free' he thinks. His home is a bed in a dorm which he's locked into every night, surrounded by other slaves who apparently all hate him. Freedom - well, he thought maybe he was working towards it but he realizes, _again_ , that it's just an illusion, any freedom that's granted to him is given for a reason.

Their soup arrives it and he eats it almost mechanically. It's good, it's _real_ food, not canteen slop but it tastes sour in his mouth. It's a bribe, a reward, something you would give your dog when you want to encourage him to do something for you. He looks around the room at the other diners, at the free people enjoying their meals.

There is silence at their table until the pasta arrives and then Doctor Cuddy tries again.

"Greg," she says.

He looks at her, at the earnest expression on her face. He touches his collar, under the rolltop, reminding her that he's a slave.

"I know you can ace this - all you have to do is not let them rattle you. Head up, speak back, don't be rude - just answer their questions." Doctor Cuddy pointed to his dinner, "your pasta's getting cold."

He starts eating, it's good food again, his first meal out for months, with proper cutlery and plates, eaten sitting on comfortable chairs, not hard wooden benches. Almost normal, almost like a date, except for the collar around his throat, branding him forever.

She gives him another couple of painkillers which he takes without saying anything.

She tries again, she seems almost desperate now, as if she thinks without her cheer leading he'll fail. He'll do something _slave-like_ and blow it.

"They will be trying to fail you. They wouldn't allow me to audit the exam. Keep track of what they ask you. If there's any inappropriate questions, we may be able to challenge a fail. They won't have any excuse to fail you on medical grounds - you are the best. You're _better_ than all three of the doctors examining you." She pauses and then adds, "you're a medical genius."

He almost laughs, she's so over the top. His silence must really be rattling her, good. He knows he can do this, the lecture theater performance proved that to him, he's still there, he's still himself, deep down, and he can reach it when he needs to. His silence isn't because of fear of the test, as she obviously thinks, he's silent because of her betrayal, her lies.

Doctor Cuddy receives the bill, leaving a large tip on the table, and turns to go. Quickly, almost without thought, he grabs one of the fives she's left and stuffs it in a pocket. He's been doing things like that since he was a kid, no-one ever notices or says anything. Nobody does this time either.

Doctor Cuddy lets the guard stop at a convenience store on the way so he can get himself some lunch while they wait in the car.

"You have no reason to be afraid of this, you're Gregory House, you can ace this."

No, he thinks, I'm 56025498378, it says so on my collar.

They're back in the building, nearly back at the exam room when he speaks again.

"If I pass, do I get a cookie?"

Doctor Cuddy grins, thinking he's made a joke, obviously relieved that he seems to be acting 'normally' again.

"All the cookies you want," she promises him.

"Yeah," he says, thinking of the phlebotomists and the way they pop a cookie into a slave's mouth after they take their blood. Doctor Cuddy will take whatever he gives her, and pop a cookie into his mouth whenever he pleases her.

They stop outside the exam room and he strips off his jacket and then his rolltop, he hands them to her and takes a deep breath.

He pushes open the door and goes in, leaving her behind.

* * *

The panel is made up of three men, all dressed neatly in suits, sitting behind a long desk, papers arranged impressively in front of them, glass of water in front of each man.

He knows one of the men. He stops a few steps into the room and stares at him. The man looks back at him in shock.

It's Evan Rabine, the man he'd done his fellowship in nephrology with, back in the hospital at Michigan. He'd last seen him a few months ago, when his life was spiraling out of his control and the debtor demands were rolling in.

He remembers their last meeting, he'd just been fired from Michigan and had run into Rabine in a bar. He'd been drunk and Rabine had hauled him out of the place and dumped him on his ass in an alleyway.

 _"Why are you doing this to yourself House, you're ruining your life. You need to clean up your act, and get out of debt. You_ _ **know**_ _what'll happen if you don't."_

_"I_ _**need** _ _$500, to pay the man. Give it to me or go get fucked. I don't need your pity."_

"Come in and kneel there, boy," the older man in the middle, Greg assumes he is in charge of the panel, is pointing to a spot on the floor in front of the table. He doesn't seem to have noticed anything odd in Greg's sudden stop, probably thinks the poor slave is overwhelmed.

"I'd rather sit on a chair," Greg says quietly, looking away from Rabine. The older man stares at him, it's probably the first time he's had a slave express an opinion on anything.

"You'll do what you're told, boy or I _will_ call security in."

Greg advances to the spot on the floor and kneels, adopting the proper form automatically. Instead of dropping his gaze he lifts his chin and stares at the panel.

"What is your name, boy?"

"My name is Greg, sir."

"I am Doctor Martin, this is Doctor Asztalos, an infectious diseases specialist and this is Doctor Rabine, a nephrologist. To avoid confusion you may refer to us using our titles. You may speak directly to us whenever we ask you a question, although you will of course answer respectfully. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Doctor Martin."

Rabine clears his throat and Doctor Martin looks at him expectantly.

"I think I should just say before when we begin, that I know this...candidate. We did our fellowship together. If you think I should excuse myself from the panel I will."

Doctor Martin tapped his pen.

"I hardly think it makes any difference. You knew a free man, a doctor. This...", he waves his hand towards Greg, "This is a slave. You no more know him than you know an examination table because you've seen it before."

Rabine looks at Greg and Greg can see the sympathy in his eyes.

"Yes, I am sure you are correct, I just thought I should make a note of it as a question of protocol."

Doctor Martin nods and then looks at Greg.

"You're examining a patient in your hospital and they ask you if you are a slave, what do you reply?"

He is startled for a moment, not sure if this is the start of the oral exam or part of the introductions. He's been expecting medical questions and for a moment he cannot think what to answer.

"I assume you aren't going to stare at your patient with a blank expression like that, so what will you say?"

Doctor Martin is scribbling notes on a pad in front of him, and as he looks up Greg catches the look of distaste on his face, this man is looking for an excuse to fail him.

"I will say that yes, I am a slave, and that if they prefer to be treated by another doctor that is their right, Doctor Martin."

"A patient orders you to go to the drug cabinet and return with a vial of morphine. What do you reply?"

"I will say that I am not permitted to give out that drug without authority so I am unable to follow their order, Doctor Martin."

"Do you have that authority? Can you prescribe for patients? Can you examine a free man or woman or child without another person present? Can you give testimony in a court of law if a legal case results from your actions? Will the hospital's malpractice insurance cover the practice of a slave? As a slave what are the consequences if a patient is killed by your negligence?" Doctor Martin fires off the questions rapidly, not waiting for a response.

He flounders for a moment, the practicalities of his situation haven't been addressed yet, he has only the vaguest idea of how this will work himself. He suspects that Doctor Cuddy hasn't thought out all the ramifications herself. He had thought that this exam would be addressing only his specialties, fields in which he was confident.

"I...I...I am not sure, sir."

"As I thought." Doctor Martin taps his pen on his papers and looks at Doctor Asztalos but before he can say anything Rabine leans forward and addresses Greg.

"Greg, a 44-year-old woman reports severe right calf pain, which has been worsening over the past week. She occasionally takes acetaminophen and occasionally uses alcohol but does not use cigarettes or I.V. drugs; she has had a monogamous relationship with a female partner for eight years. She has been feeling under the weather for several months, with fatigue, unintentional weight loss of eight lb, and postprandial abdominal discomfort. She denies having cough, dyspnea, hemoptysis, chest pain, change in bowel habits, urinary symptoms, or rash. On examination, the patient's temperature is 99.8° F, her blood pressure is 160/100 mm Hg, and there are abrasions on her right knee and palm from a recent fall. On neurologic examination, the patient has marked weakness of right foot dorsiflexion. Skin examination reveals livedo reticularis over the patient's back and lower extremities. Urinalysis results are normal, ESR is 87, creatinine is 1.9, rheumatoid factor and antinuclear antibody test results are negative, and chest x-ray is normal. What is the most likely diagnosis for the patient?"

Greg turns his head to face Rabine, relieved to have a medical question. As he listens to the case being presented he realizes that he's heard this before. One of their patients during their fellowship, Rabine is giving him a case history he already knows.

"Polyarteritis nodosa," he answers confidently, after all it was what their final diagnosis had been.

"Why not scardiosis, or even lupus?"

"Although sarcoidosis can cause nerve and renal injury as well as systemic symptoms, it is unlikely to be the cause of this patient's symptoms because 90% of patients with sarcoidosis have pulmonary involvement. Lupus could explain the systemic symptoms, the neurologic deficit, and livedo, but it is unlikely to be lupus with a negative antinuclear antibody test result."

"And if it were Polyarteritis nodosa what would your recommended treatment be?."

Greg confidently outlines his course of treatment, including recommendations for aftercare, answers a couple of follow up questions and then is peppered by some questions from Doctor Asztalos, including some thorny ones on a couple of fairly recent innovations in the field. He feels in his element, answering succinctly and clearly. He knows he is doing well on the medical questions, even Doctor Martin relaxes back in his seat as he answers them. The questions are tough and probing, he is not a medical student after all but a seasoned professional. By the end of two hours he is exhausted, his throat dry from talking, his body stiff from kneeling. They haven't offered him a drink, or a break. Finally Doctor Martin glances at his watch.

"Very well, we have reached the end of our allotted time. The hospital will be informed of our decision regarding this matter, you are dismissed, Greg."

He stands up and then hesitates.

"Your earlier questions Doctor Martin, about how a slave will function as a doctor?"

The man waves his hand impatiently.

"Too late to answer those, boy."

"Yes, sir. I just wanted to say that I will find out the answers."

Doctor Martin stares at him and then nods. "Someone needs to. Run along now."

He leaves the room, he knows he's done enough to pass, if they mark fairly. Only the medical questions should count, Doctor Martin's procedural questions are more the domain of his hospital, as his owner, than him. But there is no guarantee of fairness in this situation.

* * *

Doctor Cuddy meets him outside the room and he puts on the suit jacket and rolltop again. They're almost at the door of the building when he realizes he needs a 'bathroom break'. Doctor Cuddy rolls her eyes but they go back inside and he goes to the men's room.

Once inside the stall he fishes out the $5 bill and the two quarters from his pocket. He needs to find a better place for them until he can hide them in the hospital. He looks around the stall and spots a loose screw in the door hinge, he works it out and then uses it to slit open a tiny hole in the lining of one pocket, he pushes the money through the hole, wrapping the bill around the coins, it should be safe there from anything but the most thorough inspection of his clothes.

He flushes the toilet for cover and goes back out into the bathroom.

Evan Rabine is standing at the sink washing his hands. He looks startled when he sees Greg, his eyes flicking over the concealing clothes. Greg stands still, pretending a bravado he doesn't feel. It had been gut wrenching to see Rabine in the exam room, all professional and respected while he knelt in front of him, a cowed slave without even a surname to call his own.

"House...I don't know what to say...I knew you were in trouble, then you disappeared, there were rumors.."

Greg shrugs.

"Maybe you should have lent me that five hundred when I asked you."

"You would have just put it on the horses, or pissed it away."

Greg laughs, without humor

"Yeah, you're right. Forget it Rabine. It's done. Game over."

He washes his hands and turns to go.

"House..."

"I said forget it. I've got to go, my 'owner' is waiting outside for me. Have a nice life."

He wads up the paper towel he was using and lobs it into the bin, hand on the door he hesitates.

"Thanks...for that question Rabine, it helped."

Then he leaves, closing the door on the future that might have been his. He walks back to the car, trailing a step behind Doctor Cuddy. Evan Rabine, although a completely competent doctor was no 'rising star' like he had been. Yet Rabine is now in a position to be called by the medical board of New Jersey to participate in board examinations while Greg is about to be handcuffed and driven back to a hospital that _owns_ him. Around the time that Rabine is going home to his wife Greg will be being locked into a slave dorm for the night. While Rabine wears a tie around his neck, Greg wears a collar.

He wishes, very strongly, that he could change places with Evan Rabine.

* * *

The guard handcuffs him again and stuffs him in the back seat. Doctor Cuddy goes back inside the building to get his oral exam results and he's alone with the man.

"You and me, boy - we're going to have a little talk when we get back to the hospital, about just how a slave should behave."

He leans over and pats Greg on the face, not hard but right on the worst of the bruising. Greg sucks in his breath and turns his head away. The guard laughs and gets into the front seat, waiting for Doctor Cuddy.

Doctor Cuddy is tense all the way home, not speaking to him, not revealing how the test had gone. When they get out of the car she has the guard uncuff him.

"I have to go directly to the dean's office for a meeting, you come with me Greg, and Mr Edwards, if you could come to, I might need you to take Greg back to his office."

Mrs Foster and Mr Johnson are already in the Dean's office, Greg can't help taking a step back when he sees Mr Johnson, the memory of the man viciously assaulting him still fresh in his mind.

Doctor Cuddy tugs him forward into the room, saying that she needs the others to 'identify' him so that they are talking about the same slave called Greg. He gulps, this meeting is about him then. He wonders if this is the meeting that will decide how he is to be punished for saying 'no' to Mr Johnson.

Doctor Cuddy nods to Mr Edwards.

"Would you take Greg back to the Diagnostics office, and ensure he doesn't leave or speak to anyone?"

The guard puts a heavy hand on Greg's arm and steers him out of the room.

Once they're outside with the door shut Edwards takes out the handcuffs and cuffs Greg's hands back together.

"Come on then, boy. Let's go have that little chat."

* * *

Edwards pushes him inside the office, with his hands cuffed he can't control his fall and he falls heavily on all fours, then sideways to the floor.

"Who are you and what are you doing in here?"

For a moment Greg is confused at Edwards question and then realizes that there is another person in the room. He twists his head around to see that it's Doctor Jenkins, the intern he'd thrown out of the lecture hall. For a moment he is relieved, maybe the doctor being here might curb some of Edwards apparent anger, but there is an ugly expression on the intern's face. Jenkins is here to get revenge. His stomach clenches as Jenkins explains his plan.

"The slave talked back to me the other day. I wasn't able to discipline him at the time, but I though I'd just show him his place, maybe take a few pics and show them around."

Jenkins shows Edwards a box of donuts, explaining that his plan is to have Greg eat them off the floor, and take them from his hand. It seems that Greg's comments about Jenkins being a 'hog' have struck home.

Edwards offers his help and Greg knows that this is about to turn into something nastier than Jenkins would do by himself, he levers himself to his feet, lifting his chin. He needs to show them strength, maybe he can protect himself with words. Edwards steps forward and knocks him hard in the chest, sending him falling to the ground again.

"Boy, I have two orders concerning you. You don't get to leave this room, and you don't get to speak to anyone. _Anyone_. You try and speak to either of us, boy and your mouth is gagged. With whatever's convenient."

He closes the door to the office behind him.

He fights them. He tries as hard as he can to fight them. They go to strip him, he kicks and twists and tries to get out of their grasp. Jenkins is fairly useless but Edwards is obviously experienced at this sort of thing and he gets his pants off and then holds him tight while Jenkins removes his T-shirt. They're all breathing hard by the time he's naked and he has a few more bruises to his body. His hands are cuffed together in front of him and they shove him back down to the floor. Jenkins is standing in front of him, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed with exertion. Greg thinks that it was never part of Jenkins plan to strip him naked, that was all Edwards. Jenkins is just a boy, trying hard to pretend he's in Edwards league.

They start with the donuts, he refuses to open his mouth until Edwards taps his jaw, and to Greg's humiliation his jaw falls open, a response to the training he'd received at the Center This is what they've made of him, he's a trained animal that responds to commands automatically. Edwards crams a chocolate donut into his mouth until he is forced to chew it or choke, his lips are smeared with chocolate and bits dribble out of his mouth. They wipe their chocolate covered hands in his hair and over his body. Jenkins takes his turn, shoving another donut into his mouth, a cream filled one. He spits half of the second donut out onto the floor and Edwards shoves him down until his face is in the donut, slapping his ass and telling him to eat the donut off the floor. He eats the donut because it's better than the alternative that he fears is coming.

It doesn't take Edwards long to suggest it. Greg knows that this has been Edwards plan all along, he'd promised this to Greg on their first encounter, if Greg caused him any trouble. Now he's going to make good on that promise, with Jenkins coming along for the ride.

They break open the jelly donuts, digging out the jelly and with rough fingers. Edwards shoves that up his asshole as a rudimentary lube. He thrusts with his fingers, laughing as Greg jerks his hips like a puppet on a string.

"Oh yeah, you'll love this boy, you're made for this." Edwards gives one final thrust of his fingers and then withdraws. Greg tries to scuttle away but they hold him tight. Edwards forces him into a kneeling position, ass in the air and shoves his thighs wide apart. Then he enters him, in one rough stabbing thrust, all the way in. He leans his weight on Greg's back, pushing him further down until his face is against the carpet . Then he starts thrusting.

The pain is intense this time, Edwards is rough and his thrusts are strong, he's doing this to hurt Greg, not just to use him. He wants to dominate, to punish Greg for today, maybe for just existing.

To his horror Greg finds himself getting hard, even with the violence of the assault, Edwards is hitting his prostate with every thrust, causing Greg to moan and his body to tremble.

Jenkins circles him, taking photos. His hands are shaking and he is erect, aroused by this vicious rape of the slave who'd humiliated him in front of his peers only yesterday. Greg looks up at him, tears of pain in his eyes, he wants to plead with him, to ask him to think about what he's doing. To tell him to stop this. He's kept silent by Edward's threat to gag him, and by knowing the futility of it, Jenkins is a follower, not a leader, he won't stop this.

Jenkins leans in close, his hand going under Greg's body and roughly pumping his erection.

"He's really enjoying this," he says to Edwards, sounding surprised. Greg tries to squirm away from the contact and Jenkins retreats, taking up the camera to snap a shot of Greg's hard penis, lifting his chin up to photograph his donut smeared face.

When Edwards is finished Jenkins take a turn, he's fumbly and inexperienced, his fingers dig into Greg's side, his cock moves inside him, the way lubricated by the sticky jelly and the semen Edwards had emptied into him. Sometime during Jenkins 'turn' Greg comes, moaning as he climaxes and spurts across his office floor, dirtying the carpet. He blanks out for a moment and then Jenkins is coming inside him, and pulling out roughly, releasing Greg to collapse onto the ground, fluids dripping out of him. He feels split in two and drained, he lies without moving.

There's a moment of respite and then Edwards sets him to cleanup, having him crawl around the floor and pick up the donut pieces in his cuffed hands and dump them in the trash can. Edwards rifles through the cupboards and comes up with some wipes, basic cleaning supplies that have been left in the office.

"Clean your filth up off the carpet, fuckbox."

He moves slowly, every inch of him hurts now, he uses the wipes to clean the worst of the fluid off the carpet.

Edwards says the cleanup crew will handle the rest of the office and Greg cringes when he thinks of slaves coming in here, to the office that is supposed to be his, and seeing evidence of what has happened.

Edwards comes over to him and roughly removes the cuffs from his wrists. His wrists are scraped and red where he fought to free himself.

"Okay, boy, you stay here, don't leave the office, don't talk to anyone," Edwards tells him, delivering one parting slap to Greg's ass. Jenkins looks down at Greg, and Greg can see a trace of fear and puzzlement on his face, as if this hasn't been quite what he'd been expecting.

They go, leaving the door open behind them and Greg kneeling naked in the middle of the room.

* * *

He has lost everything that he has gained back since being here at this hospital. The triumph of the presentation yesterday is gone, worthless, his victory hollow. All that matters is that he is a naked slave who has just been thoroughly used by two free people. If anyone finds out about it they will be annoyed only by possible damage to a valuable piece of property, not outraged at the assault on a human being.

The nice suit of clothes, the medical examination, the lunch at the Italian restaurant, they were the illusion, this is his reality.

Greg crawls behind one of the desks, so that he is hidden from the doorway. His clothes are on one of the chairs and he picks them up, holding them to him tightly. He doesn't want to put his nice clothes on over top of his stained and abused body. There is still semen dripping down his legs, donut crumbs and jelly in his asshole. The wipes are within reach and he fumbles a few out of the packet and reaches behind himself to wipe up the area as best he can. The wipes comes away with just a trace of blood dotted on them, not enough for there to be serious damage. He stares at the wipes and then balls them in his fist.

He puts his clothes back on slowly, the underwear, pants and T-shirt. He doesn't bother with his rolltop or suit jacket, they only hide what he is now, they can't change it. He leaves his feet bare and sits back on the floor, out of sight. He hugs his legs to himself and stares at the desk next to him. It must be time for his evening meal, he can go anytime now, he can set his own schedule. He chokes out an ironic laugh, yesterday he thought he was gaining back some freedom, now he knows differently.

He's sure he passed the exams, he knows he aced the written test and he knows he did well with the oral. They _should_ pass him, but they're free people, they can do anything they want to him. They can fail him. Free people can do anything they want and he can't stop them.

Greg wonders how long it will take Jenkins to have the photos developed and distribute them throughout the hospital. When Doctor Cuddy sees them will she recognize what he is now, and decide that someone like that could never be a doctor in this hospital?

He looks at the desk again, the phone is sitting on it. He reaches out and touches it, grabs it to him. He shuffles around on the floor until he's sitting under the desk, phone cradled in his hands. He can't see the door and he assumes anyone passing can't see him. It's getting late, the offices are usually deserted by this time.

He lifts the receiver, dials the number, his hands shaking. It's a huge risk, but if they catch him what are they going to do to him they haven't done already? He just needs to...

"Good evening, Blythe House speaking."

He holds the handset tightly, resting his ear against it. That voice, his mother's voice. He remembers her soothing him when he was a young child, when he was crying in her arms because dad had whipped him for something or other. Telling him that he shouldn't cry, that he just needs to learn to be better, to be what his dad expects. He nearly puts the phone down, but he also remembers her singing him to sleep when his nightmares plagued him, telling him everything was going to be all right.

"Hello? Who is this?"

He draws a shaky breath.

"Mom, it's me."

There's a hiss of breath and a half sob.

"Greg? Oh Greg..."

"Yeah Mom, it's me. I...I can't talk long."

"Greg, we got a letter...they said you'd been..."

"Yeah Mom, I have been."

"Are you okay? I've been so worried, you scared me Greg."

"I...I'm sorry Mom, I'm fine Mom," he reassures her, falling into their pattern, his mother had never wanted to know the truth. "Everything's okay... don't worry Mom..."

"Are they treating you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm in a hospital Mom...I...I'm gonna get my license back...I'm going to be a doctor again..."

"Oh, I'm so glad Greg, I thought it might be...but you're okay?"

He holds the receiver tighter, fighting back tears, no, he wants to sob, no Mom, they hurt me Mom, they hurt me, come and get me.

"Yeah...yeah..it's going to be okay."

There is noise in the background, a deeper voice.

"Greg...your father wants to talk to you..."

"No, Mom, don't..."

"I love you Greg. Just remember that baby, I love you."

"Yeah..I love you too Mom, don't go..."

"Greg."

His father's voice, full of disapproval and censure.

"Yes, sir."

"It's true then son, you're a...slave?" he spits it out, as if it is a swear word. His father lives by honor and duty, his son has been nothing but a disappointment to him his whole life.

"Yes, sir."

"And they're treating you okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Straighten up and do what you're told Greg. You brought this on yourself, be a man and take the consequences. I told you this would happen to you some day."

Fuck off, he thinks, the familiar anger burning in him. He hates this man, this not-father of his. He hates that he made all his prophecies of Greg's failure come true.

"I'm glad that you are okay but don't call again Greg, not until you're free. It will just upset your mother and I don't think it's allowed."

"No, sir. Dad..." he starts to say and stops, what's the point. His Dad had never wanted to hear him when he was a child, why would he start now? "Dad..can you put Mom back on?"

"Goodbye, Greg."

The phone line goes dead. He stares at the receiver, thinks about dialing again, knowing it will go unanswered. He hangs up and pushes the phone away, huddling himself further under the desk. Alone. He's alone in this.

He stays underneath the desk. He should get up and go, go down to the basement, have dinner, be ignored by the other slaves, shower, go to bed. Like a good little slave.

He stays underneath the desk.

When the phone rings again he stares at it. It rings out before he even thinks of answering it. When it starts to shrill again he picks it up.

"H...hello. Diagnostics office."

It's Doctor Cuddy.

"Greg, are you locked in?"

He stares at the open door.

"No. The door's open. I'm not supposed to leave or speak to anyone." He parrots the guards orders. He feels hollow, empty inside, as if there is nothing left of him.

Cuddy laughs at him. "It's nearly eight, of course you can go - were you planning to spend the night there? Get down to your dorm. I'll see you tomorrow at seven, my office."

He hangs up the phone. Thinks about tomorrow, and the day after, and all the endless days after that. How many more days, how much more of this can he stand? When will it be too much?

He levers himself to his feet. He can't stay here all night. He looks around, the cursory clean up can't hide what happened here. He can smell it, he can see it.

He shoves his bare feet into his shoes, picks up the rest of his clothes in a ball under his arm and leaves the office. His hands are shaking and he can't lock the door, it doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore.

He just makes it in time for his shower. He dumps the clothes he's carrying on his bed, strips the rest of them off and trots naked to the showers. He passes the supervisor who stares at him, taking in the sight of his stained body, the chocolate in his hair, but doesn't stop him.

In the communal shower he moves amongst the slaves until he ends in a corner, taking up the soap he scrubs himself fiercely. His hands move between his legs and he scrubs away, taking away the stain, the filth.

He soaps his hair and his face, rubbing them clean, he tries not to think of their hands, rubbing chocolate into his hair..

He looks up and Jon is staring at him. He lifts his chin defiantly and stares back. Jon looks away and moves off.

He's last out the shower, deliberately lingering so that the other slaves are mostly gone by the time he gets out. He towels off fiercely, reddening his skin. There are livid bruises all over his body, marks from yesterdays beating and todays...what happened today.

He makes it back to his dorm just in time for lock up and lies down on his bunk, blanket pulled up. He rolls over and as the heavy door slams shut and the lights dim he starts to sob, tears muffled by the pillow he shoves in his face.

He falls asleep with the tears drying on his face.

* * *

_People holding him down, he can't move, can't see, can't think. Someone kicks him hard, then again, then again, the people are laughing, he's bleeding, he's bleeding into the ground. Hands turn him over and he opens his eyes and looks into the man's eyes. The man laughs._

_"Here boy, have a donut."_

_A donut is shoved into his open mouth, and then another and then another._

_They smear him with chocolate and jelly from the donuts, all over his body, into his hair, shove it into his eyes and ears. His face is rubbed into it where the crumbs are on the ground, they make him lick up every crumb._

_He's pushed to his knees and he feels another man mounting him, thrusting into him, it hurts, it tears. He looks up, tears in his eyes to see Doctor Cuddy standing over him._

_"help me," he cries, "please help me"_

_She pats his head and feeds him another donut._

"Shut up, boy! Wake up!"

He's being pulled up, off the bed, two security guards holding him. He gasps and looks around at the dimness of the dorm, it's the middle of the night.

"Come on boy, you don't like it in here? We're going to take you somewhere nice and comfy to sleep. Night in the cage might teach you to stop screaming in the middle of the night."

The cage, he can't go in the cage...not again, he can't go back to processing, he can't do that again. He tries to drop to his knees but they are holding him tightly.

"Please sir..please d...d..d...d..don't take me...I'll be good, please sir..."

A baton crunches against his leg and he collapses in their arms, crying out in pain. They drag him out and down the hallway to the security office. The cage is in the corner and he is dragged towards it.

Before he can protest any further he is manhandled into the cage, the door slamming shut.

"Please sir, this slave is sorry, p...p..please let me out."

One of the guards raps his baton along the bars of the cage.

"Shut up, lie down and go to sleep. You say another word and it's a gag. Understand?"

He gulps and nods.

"Smart, boy. Now fucking lie down."

He lies down on his side, the cage isn't quite long enough so he has to curl up slightly. He stares at them, pleading with his eyes to be let out. They laugh at him.

"Good boy. That's where you belong."

They move away and he pulls his knees and elbows up to his chest, curling up like in a dog in the cage.

He stares out through the bars, afraid to go to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Day 14 – Thursday**

_It's cold in here and you hurt. Don't make a sound. Don't talk. Don't scream. They'll take your sight away if you do. They'll take your hearing away. That's worse. You'll be helpless. Just be quiet. Wait for them to come for you. Don't make a noise._

The handlers drag him out of the cage. He goes quickly to his knees, hands behind his back, head down. They are talking but he can't understand what they are saying. They take his arms and haul him to his feet. Drag him down a hallway and shove him into a room.

There are others in here, some naked like him, some dressing. He goes to the only empty bed, stares at the locker next to it. The man next to him is taking clothes from a locker and putting them on. He opens the one next to the bed.

There are a lot of clothes in there, he can't choose. He looks at the others. T-shirt, jeans, stained clothes. He finds them and takes them out. His whole body aches and when he looks down at himself he sees livid bruises standing out against his pale skin. The clothes hide them.

He follows the others out of the room, goes to a man who gives him some cleaning things. The man says something but he doesn't know what he wants. The man laughs and gives him a little push away.

He turns and follows someone, up some stairs. He goes up another flight and along a corridor. There's a bathroom. He pushes the door open and goes in.

He goes to his knees and begins to clean. Over and over he wipes his rag along the cold surface, it's almost soothing. He's safe here. Over and over...

He walks along the corridor, there's a room. The door is closed, he pushes it open and looks inside.

The room is messy, he can see crumbs on the floor, the furniture is untidy, there are stains on the carpet. There is a phone under a desk, on the ground.

There are crumbs on the floor.

_Pushed to his knees, food in his mouth, food in his hair and his eyes. Hands cuffed, steel rubbing his wrists raw. A heavy weight on him. It's sticky. He's naked and there's food in his mouth. Crumbs on the carpet. Screaming but no-one hears. They're laughing at him._

_"Oh yeah, you'll love this boy, you're made for this."_

_Run, escape._

He runs.

It's quiet here, and small, he can curl up. They won't see him here.

* * *

The doors opens and light floods into his safe place. The handler is angry. He drags him out by the arm, cursing him. The handler hits him on the back of the head, yelling at him. He wants to kneel but the man won't let go of his arm and he hangs in his grasp, head down.

He's taken to another room and an angry woman comes to see him. She's angry at the man, angry at him. She talks to the man and then he's hauled away and marched down some stairs to where he'd come from this morning.

He's taken back to the room with the bed and the clothes. The handler goes to the locker with the clothes and dumps them all on the bed. He picks out some nicer clothes, and thrusts them at him.

He takes the clothes in his hands, staring at them. The handler shoves him against a wall, face first. His T-shirt is pulled off over his head. His jeans are undone and slipped down his legs. He starts to tremble.

_"Oh yeah, you'll love this boy, you're made for this."_

He kneels down, on hands and knees and waits for the man to fuck him. He was made for this.

A woman comes into the room, starts to talk to the handler. He tries to understand what they are saying, some words and phrases begin to make sense.

"...found him hiding in a closet..."

"...took him to the clinic...change into smart clothes..wouldn't get undressed...he's really out of it..."

The woman comes over to him, where he is kneeling, waiting.

"Put these clothes on. You are supposed to be in the clinic."

She gives him the smart clothes and he fumbles them on with shaking hands. Finished, he stands before them, head bowed and hands clasped in front of his stomach.

_"Get those hands up, boy, don't you be hiding that cock and balls. People want to see them, they can. People want to touch them, they can. Your body belongs to your owners now."_

"Take him back to the clinic, stay with him until he's disciplined," the woman says to the man. His arm is grabbed again and he's marched through the corridors. He makes sure to keep his hands up.

* * *

The angry woman is there again, he's frightened of her, she seems annoyed at him. She and the handler talk to each other, the handler insisting he has to stay, until the slave is 'disciplined'. Finally the handler sits on a chair and then the woman tugs him away, leads him to a small room stocked floor to ceiling with an array of different objects.

"You started on this yesterday, you can finish it off this morning," she tells him and leaves.

He looks around, he's not sure what he's supposed to do here. He's not sure why he needs to be _disciplined_ , he's a good slave, isn't he?. He sees a rag in a corner, remembers cleaning this morning, wiping a rag up and down, up and down, it had been soothing, it had been safe.

He kneels down and takes up the rag, wipes it up and down the shelves, up and down, back and forth. After a while he stops trembling.

* * *

"Is that all you've done?"

He flinches, startled at the loud voice of the angry woman. He drops the cloth and folds his hands behind his back, hangs his head. He's already on his knees, where he belongs.

"This slave...sorry. This slave's sorry. There wasn't a cleaning kit. This slave... please..."

She seems even angrier. "Get up."

He stands up, trembling with fear.

"Do you know where you are?" she asks.

He swallows, he's seen the name on signs around the room, he's not sure if he's supposed to know. "Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," he says shakily, bracing himself for her anger.

"Do you know who I am?"

There is a name on the tag on her uniform, she didn't seem angry at his first answer so he answers more confidently -"Nurse Brenda."

"Do you know what _your_ name is?"

It's a trap. They're going to send him back to processing, back to the cage if he answers 'Greg'. He falls to his knees, bruising them as they impact the hard tiled floor. He hardly feels it. "Whatever you say, ma'am," he answers desperately. _Don't send me back, please don't send me back..._

"Get _up_ ," Nurse Brenda said. "Just stand there." She goes and gets a chair and points to it, "sit down on that." He quickly obeys, staring at her with fear.

"Sit there. Don't move, don't speak to anyone, till I come back. Got that?"

He gulps and nods - he won't move, he won't speak. Maybe if he's quiet she'll forget he was ever here.

* * *

Nurse Brenda tells him to come with her. When he follows her he notices the handler has gone and feels a wave of relief. They go into a small room with an exam table. There are two people in there. No, there's a man and a slave. The man is holding a cloth on the slave's arm, he can see blood seeping through the cloth.

Nurse Brenda tells the slave to lie on the table.

"You need to treat him."

She's talking to him but he doesn't know why. The slave is bleeding. He needs to see a doctor.

"This man has a splinter wound in his forearm at least four inches long. Fragments remain in the wound. He is bleeding. What treatment do you propose, Doctor House?"

He answers, without knowing where the answer comes from. "Remove any foreign objects remaining, irrigate the wound, then suture."

She nods and he goes to the table. She's given him an order, he has to do what he's told. She lays out a tray of instruments and he selects a syringe and local anesthetic. Injects the slave's arm. The slave looks surprised, he's not sure why.

Once he starts, the motions come easily. He examines the gash, picks out some splinter fragments, with Nurse Brenda's assistance he irrigates it and then sutures the wound neatly. He notices that his hands are no longer shaking, he's no longer scared. Suturing is like wiping the shelves with his rag, it's soothing. It's safe.

When he's finished he gives the slave instructions on keeping the wound clean and dry.

"...don't get the bandage wet..."

House looks around. He's in an exam room. There's a patient on the table, a _slave_. He remembers his hands, stitching, the needle going in and out of the skin. He can't remember anything else. How did he get here? He looks around, a nurse is watching him. He stares at her, and the man and his slave. This isn't his hospital - the walls are different, the rooms are different. He doesn't treat slaves.

The nurse grabs his arm and hustles him out of the exam room, to a reception desk outside..

"Wait there Greg, don't move," she says, and then she disappears again before he can say anything, back into the exam room.

He looks around, it appears to be a clinic but there are no patients waiting, no doctors and nurses, it is closed then.

There's a mirror on the wall and he glances in it.

He's wearing a rolltop, odd, he hates wearing those, they make him feel constricted, like there's a weight around his throat. He puts his hand up to the rolltop, where it bulges around his neck.

He feels a collar underneath the material and the memories come back. This isn't his hospital in Michigan, this is a small teaching hospital in New Jersey. He's not Doctor House, he's Greg - a slave. Except, he took those medical tests yesterday and he's just sewn up a patient.

The door to the exam room opens again and his patient and his owner come out. The free man is holding onto the slave's arm and waves at Greg as they leave. The slave glances around briefly, his eyes wide. He stares at Greg and then smiles, quick and fleeting, before turning away.

Nurse Previn follows them out, comes over to him.

"Greg? Are you back with me?"

Images come into his head. Donuts being crammed into his mouth, his body being assaulted by the two men, phoning his mother, showering, going to bed in the dorm, being dragged to a cage. Then it's blank, he's not sure whether the cage was real, or a nightmare. He has no idea what he's been doing today. He's frightened at the idea that he's lost nearly a whole day.

Nurse Previn is staring at him so he answers hesitantly.

"Yes...I don't remember..."

"What's the last thing you _do_ remember, Greg?"

 _The cage_ , he thinks, _I think the cage was real_. He doesn't want to tell her that, that he spent the night naked, huddled in a cage, like an animal. Maybe it wasn't real.

"Going to bed last night," he answers, hoping that it will be enough.

"What happened before you went to bed, Greg?"

He can't tell her. _He can't tell her that_. He can't tell her that two men stuffed his ass full of food and fucked him until he came. _And they took photos_.

"N...N...Nothing," he stammers out. "N..N..nothing happened."

She looks disappointed for a moment, as if he's let her down. Then she seems to shake it off. She produces the usual two sandwiches from her bag and sends him to get coffee. He gets himself one as well, loading it with sugar and cream.

They sit at the reception desk and she puts his sandwich in front of him. He takes it gratefully, he's hungry and shaken.

He takes a bite out of the sandwich, it's thick with meat and salad, obviously home-made.

He looks at the sandwich and then at the no-nonsense woman sitting across from him, pretending that he's just a colleague she's having lunch with.

"Why...why do you..." he gestures to the sandwich, suddenly unable to articulate his question. Why does she care? He doesn't want to ask that and for her to say she doesn't.

She continues to eat her sandwich calmly, then sips her coffee.

"Doctor Cuddy and I fought to get this clinic operating, Greg. It wasn't easy, there's no money in it, it costs money to run, even with volunteer labor from the doctors and nurses. There's still opposition to it, to the idea that people should be able to see a doctor, whether or not they can afford it. Today only half my 'volunteers' turned up, and when they do come many of them are inexperienced, sloppy, lazy. Then there's you. You're experienced, you're a good doctor, with you here four hours a day, every day, guaranteed, I can run this properly, help more people. A doctor like you would never normally work in this type of clinic. Now, you have no choice."

He knows that's true, in his old hospital he'd avoided this sort of doctoring as much as he could, it bored him.

"But I need you to be fit, healthy, and in sound mind to work here Greg. If people are abusing you," she points to his bruised face, "you're no good to me. It needs to be sorted out."

She stands up, briskly picking up the sandwich wrappings and disposing of them.

"Go and clean up the exam rooms, there's been enough time wasted today."

He cleans up the room where he'd apparently stitched up a slave's arm. His first piece of real doctoring in months and he doesn't remember it.

He wonders what happened this morning, what has he been doing? He remembers what happened in his office, going back down to the basement, going to sleep. He thinks he remembers being dragged out of the dorm in the middle of the night and being put in a cage. Then he was in this exam room stitching a slave up, and that's all he remembers. It's scary to think he's lost so many hours, they've taken his freedom away, are they destroying his mind as well? He thinks about what Nurse Previn said, if he is not of sound mind then he is of no use to anyone, might as well be a cleaning slave.

He finishes his clean up job and leaves the room.

He stops short when he sees Mrs Foster in the outer area, talking to Nurse Previn. They've seen him so it's too late to retreat back into the exam room.

"I've finished, Nurse Previn," he reports quietly, ducking his head, avoiding Mrs Foster's gaze. He doesn't like it when she comes up here.

Mrs Foster looks him over, he knows that he's moving stiffly, that his face and wrists are bruised, the other injuries she can't see.

"I'll ask Mr Smith to find some work for him to do," she says to Nurse Previn. Mr Smith is the cleaning supervisor, he doesn't want to do cleaning again, he thought he wasn't supposed to do that. He wonders again just what he's been doing today.

"No," Nurse Previn says. "I need to go talk this over with Doctor Cuddy. _I_ need to,I don't want Greg damaged like this again, he's going to be too useful in the clinic."

"Thank you, tell Doctor Cuddy that I can loan her a cane, and that I really hope we can resolve this situation to the hospital's benefit."

Mrs Foster leaves and he stares at the floor. He doesn't want Doctor Cuddy to bend him over her desk butt naked and cane him. He doesn't know what he's done to require being caned.

"Greg, I want you to go back to your office, stay out of the way, stay out of trouble. I will be talking to Doctor Cuddy about all this. This is not a satisfactory state of affairs and it can't continue like this."

He ducks his head and leaves.

* * *

The office has been thoroughly cleaned. The furniture is back in its usual place, the surfaces are spotless, the phone is sitting back on the desk, the books are stacked back up, along with his notepad and three pens. There's a few small stains on the carpet and a faint whiff of _something_ in the air but that's the only sign of what happened here last night.

On one of the desks is a large box, he goes over to it cautiously. It's a box of cookies, complete with glossy pictures of the cookies all over the box. It's still sealed - it's new. He's puzzled for a minute and then he remembers his conversation with Doctor Cuddy from before he did the oral exam.

_"If I pass, do I get a cookie?"_

_"All the cookies you want."_

So he passed, and she's brought him cookies. He's a doctor again now. Doctor House. He thinks he should feel pleased, happy, _relieved_ that he can be a doctor now, not a cleaning slave. But he's a doctor who can be fucked by the rest of the staff of the hospital whenever they like, who can be beaten and put in a cage, who has nightmares, who has lost a whole day of his life. He's a doctor who is a mental basket case apparently, a shattered shell of who he once was.

He looks at the cookies again, did Doctor Cuddy give them to him this morning? Did he bring them here? He can't remember, he can't remember anything from this morning.

He opens the box, looks inside. They are very nice looking cookies, full of sugar and fat. No Slave Chow here, no sensible nutritional diet, no vegetable puree on your cereal. He selects a nice chocolate one and nibbles on it, wishes he had another cup of coffee to dunk it in. There's a coffeemaker, but there's no coffee supplies, because there are no people using this office yet, just him.

The cookie is really rather nice, a good treat for Doctor Cuddy's performing slave. He has a mental image of himself, kneeling by her side while she pops a cookie into his mouth as a reward. Such a _good_ slave, such a _good_ boy.

Then he has another image, of Jenkins shoving cookies into his mouth until it's crammed full.

He shuts the lid on the box of cookies and looks around. This used to be _his_ office. Now it's the place he got fucked last night. The door is open, people are passing by. Anyone could come in for a repeat performance. Maybe Edwards has already shown the photos around, told people how much fun could be had in the second floor 'diagnostics' office with the slave wearing the fancy clothing.

He picks up the box of cookies and walks out the door.

* * *

With his lab coat and rolltop on he blends into the hospital traffic, just another doctor. Not a lot of people know him by sight. He roams freely around, still holding his box of cookies. He finds himself on a balcony overlooking what has to be the main entrance of the hospital. He hasn't been here before, he'd come in the goods entrance. People are coming and going through the big glass doors. Doctors and nurses leaving, visitors and patients arriving. He could go down there, could slip in behind some of them, walk out the doors.

There's a security guard on the door, not one he recognizes but he wonders if they would recognize him, if they would see through his clever disguise. Maybe they would shoot him on the way out. Maybe it would be worth it.

He turns away, he has some sort of future here, even if it is bleak. As a runaway slave he would have none, he would never be able to be a doctor again. He leaves the balcony with its enticing view of the doors and continues wandering through the hospital.

He comes to the lecture theater, the scene of his brief triumph on Tuesday. Where he had given his presentation to the junior doctors of the hospital. Where he had kicked Jenkins out. Those heady moments ended up costing him dearly but he doesn't regret them. It had felt so wonderful, those few minutes of freedom.

The old piano is still on the stage. He wonders why it is here. Crossing the floor he goes up to it, glances around and slowly opens the lid. The keys have yellowed but when he reaches a finger out and depresses one it sounds a soft mellow note. Idly he strokes another couple of keys. Thinks of the piano he left back in his seedy apartment, the only thing he regrets losing from that apartment.

He sits down on the dusty stool and places his hands over the keys, runs a scale. He smiles to himself, places the box of cookies on top of the piano and starts to play.

It's been a few months and he's rusty but gradually his fingers loosen up and the music begins to seep into his body. Gone are the bruises, the pain, the ache in his body and soul. The music flows out of him, they can take everything else from him but he'll always have this, he'll always have his music, in his mind, in his memories, they can't take that.

He plays songs as they come to him, some classical pieces, some jazz, a few blues pieces and some plain old rock 'n' roll. In the background he sees some people coming in and sitting down to listen. He's never sought an audience for his music but he's never minded one either, music is to share.

He's in the middle of a spirited rendition of _I Don't Like Mondays,_ just up to the good bit when he sees her, the security guard who'd nearly shot him when she found him in the diagnostics office over a week ago. She's watching him play and he realizes she doesn't recognize what he is. He keeps playing.

"Excuse me, sir, but this _is_ a hospital."

Her voice is polite, almost deferential, nothing like the sneering tones the security guards usually use when speaking to him. No _boy_ here.

"I hadn't noticed," he says, lifting his chin to stare her in the eyes. In the background he notices that his audience has gone, chased off by the presence of the guard.

He sees the moment she recognizes him, her hand twitches towards her gun. Instead she reaches out and slams the piano lid down. He gets his hands out of the way just in time.

"A hospital," he says in a firm voice "is where you take sick people in and make them better. This place is a prison, a warehouse, a bordello, and a - "

Her hand is on her gun, her eyes wide. He stops for a moment, considering and then continues, eyes on hers, "damn, you distracted me, I was trying to think of another noun, and it would have been a _good_ noun. Aren't you the woman who nearly shot me? I never forget a hired killer."

She slaps him, hard, on his already bruised face. Her hands are small but it still stings. He sees with amusement that she's shaking. "Get down on your hands and knees. Now!" she orders him.

He realizes that she's scared of him, and then he realizes that she can't _make_ him do anything. She can shoot him, sure, but in a moment of clarity he realizes that he's too valuable to shoot. He explains that to her. "I am worth more money than you get paid in a year. I am worth so much money that if you kill me you're going to find yourself wearing _this_ for a fashion accessory, and probably so will your children, if you've dropped any spawn worth selling." He touches the cold metal collar hidden by his rolltop. "Just how exactly do you mean to make me do anything?"

He grins then, flashing his teeth and picks up the box of cookies, offers them to her.

"Would you like a cookie?"

She stares at him wide-eyed and then backs off, going to the phone on the wall. Calling for reinforcements. Sensible.

He puts the cookies down, opens the piano lid and starts playing _Hymn to Freedom_.

Four large guards come for him. They cuff him, they shackle him and they force his mouth open and gag him, all without a word. There's a metal pallet trolley, made for hauling supplies around the hospital and they dump him on it and throw a tarp over him.

He's wheeled away.

* * *

He's in the cage again. They've stripped him naked, his hands are cuffed, his feet shackled. The gag is still in his mouth.

He starts to panic and then steadies himself. He's in a hospital, he's not in processing.

He finds the music in his head and sounds the notes to himself.

His fingers flex and he plays an imaginary piano on the floor of his cage.


	16. Chapter 16

**Day 15 - Friday**

_When he was a child Dad used to make him sleep outside sometimes. When he'd gotten into a fight at school, when he hadn't done his chores to Dad's satisfaction, sometimes just because he existed._

_He used to be scared of being outside all night, it was lonely, it was dark, there were noises in the night. He'd huddle on the doorstep of whatever house they were living in, arms wrapped around his legs and head tucked in, crying. He never used to be able to sleep on those nights, and the nights would seem a thousand years long._

_Then he discovered music. One of the houses they moved into had an old piano. When Dad wasn't there Mom used to let him play it, she taught him how. He discovered he had a real talent for it, he could hear a song and then play it on the piano without music. He loved playing the piano, when he played he went so far away in his head he felt free._

_When he was shut out at night he'd play an imaginary piano in his head, imagine his fingers hitting the notes, the keys going up and down, the melody belting out into the night. Sometimes he'd sing softly. It kept the monsters at bay. He wasn't afraid when he was making music in his head._

He can't sing in the cage. The guards removed the gag to give him his dinner, a bowl of slave chow, placed in the cage, a bowl of water beside it. His hands were cuffed and they made him eat without using them, shoving his face in the bowl so he could scoop up the slave chow with his mouth. They'd made him eat every flake of it, chasing any stray ones around the cage, and lap up every drop of the water. They hadn't replaced the gag but had warned him that it went back in if he made a sound.

So he doesn't sing. Instead he plays the music in his head, and uses his fingers to pick out the notes on the dusty floor of the cage. Every time the memories of the Center, of his time in processing, of the assault, start to overwhelm him he drowns them out with the music in his head.

Eventually he sleeps.

* * *

He is woken by a baton being hit against the metal bars of his cage. His body protests at his cramped position, still bruised and sore from the events of the week. His bleary eyes focus on the clock on the wall. It's four o'clock in the morning, his normal waking time.

They drag him out of the cage and he thinks they are going to send him back to the dorm but they shove a cleaning kit in his cuffed hands. He's to clean up the cage he just spent the night in, and then do the rest of the office.

It's difficult with his hands bound and his feet shackled together, and they won't let him get to his feet so he has to crawl around the office. He's still naked and they laugh and make taunting comments about him. They're bored and they're enjoying themselves at his expense. He drowns them out with the music in his head and gets on with the cleaning as best he can. Eventually they tire of the game and put him back in the cage.

At his normal breakfast time they open the cage again and haul him out. He's pushed to a kneeling position and another slave comes in, carrying a bowl of slave chow and a bottle of water. It's Sam, a slave in his dorm.

"The room service around here sucks, where's my bacon and eggs?" Greg asks, bracing himself for another blow. Sam stares at him with wide eyes and shakes his head slightly.

"Put that bowl on the floor and get lost," one of the guards says to Sam and he does, almost tripping over himself in his haste to get out, he casts one last look over his shoulder at Greg and then is gone.

"Hands and knees smart boy, put that big mouth of yours to good use eating up that food."

As he eats the guard taps his baton along his spine. Greg knows it's not hard enough to leave a mark but the constant tapping makes his skin crawl and sets his teeth on edge. After he tires of that the guard aims lower, tapping it ever so gently against Greg's penis. Greg tries to shy away but the other guard holds him in place and shoves his head down into the bowl of food.

"Just keep eating, boy. Move again and Joe might just have to hit a bit harder."

He keeps eating, his body trembling in fear as the guard continues to tap the baton against his genitals.

When he's nearly finished the guard scoops the last pellets out of the bowl and throws them around the office, making Greg go and 'fetch' each one on his hands and knees, lowering his head to eat it as he finds it on the floor.

After each pellet has been found and consumed they have him kneel up.

"Any more smart remarks, boy?"

He shakes his head. Joe laughs and smacks the back of his head.

"What a good boy you can be when you try. Now open up that mouth of yours nice and wide."

They shove the gag back in his mouth and haul him to his feet.

He's taken to the showers, still bound, leashed up to a tap fitting and roughly scrubbed under cold water with a hard brush. They dry him off with an old towel and then he's marched, naked and shivering, back to the dorm. His hands and feet are released and he's told to dress in his 'clinic' clothes, although he's not given the labcoat and rolltop.

They roughly release the gag and one of the guard folds it up with his labcoat and rolltop.

"Keep your mouth shut, fuckboy," he's told. "the only thing we want to hear coming out of that mouth of yours is a scream when we're whipping you."

He swallows hard. It had seemed a good idea at the time to have a bit of fun with the obviously nervous female security guard yesterday, it is seeming less of a good idea now. He just hopes that his apparent value to the hospital, and to Doctor Cuddy, will be enough to keep him from being whipped, or otherwise put out of commission. He's come to realize over the last couple of weeks that Doctor Cuddy has a lot of professional investment in this scheme of hers. She's ambitious and she obviously sees this as a career enhancing move.

He's cuffed again and his legs are shackled and he's 'escorted' all the way to Doctor Cuddy's office. Fortunately it's still early and there aren't many hospital staff to watch him being taken in chains to the fourth floor.

* * *

She's in her office when they arrive and she watches as they take off his cuffs and the shackles on his ankles. She looks taken aback as the hardware, including the gag, is handed to her.

The guards shove him to the floor and he kneels in the expected position and listens to their conversation.

"If you have any trouble with him, ma'am, contact the security station at once. Mr Talbot says he should stay in the cage till he's sold."

"Thank you, you can go, and take those with you," she is pointing to the pile of restraints on her desk, with an expression of distaste..

"Have to leave them here, Doctor. Orders."

They leave and Greg relaxes slightly.

"Get up. Sit down."

She's indicating a chair in front of her desk, she doesn't sound pleased but she's letting him sit so he figures she isn't going to order severe punishment for him.

He gets up and sits on the chair, keeping his face expressionless, refusing to flinch in the face of her disapproval.

She runs him through a basic mental orientation test, her name, their location, his name, obviously worried that he's in the same mental state he was yesterday, whatever that was. She seems relieved when he answers correctly and steadily and again he wonders exactly what he did yesterday in the period of time he doesn't remember.

"What happened to you on Wednesday evening?" she asks abruptly and he stiffens.

He doesn't want to tell her what happened, he doesn't want to tell anyone. He remembers the camera though, the look on Jenkins face as he gleefully snapped close-ups of Greg's humiliation. If those photos are circulated around the hospital...Maybe she can stop that at least.

He looks out the window, at the world outside. How small his own world has become.

"I don't want to tell you," he says finally, still not looking at her. "But there are photos. One of them had a camera, they both used it."

"Photographs... of what?"

He shrugs. "Diagnostics equipment," he says. It hurts to refer to himself as equipment but also makes it less personal. Not a man being raped, just equipment being misused. "Being used. In the Diagnostics office."

"Who were they?"

He's scared to say but he knows he has to, he hesitates but finally tells her.

"The guard, Edwards, who took us to the testing place. And Doctor Jenkins."

"Okay. You were in a fugue state for half the day yesterday, are you aware of that? Nurse Previn says you came to yourself sometime after two, and she told you to go to your office, is that correct?"

A fugue state, is that what it was? He doesn't remember anything from that time, so he supposes it could be true.

"Yes," he says.

"Mrs Foster has advised me I should have you caned for missing your evening meal and your breakfast, and for wandering off from your work yesterday morning."

Greg stares out of the window, it's a nice day outside. He wishes he could just go out there, and escape this. Escape the threat of caning, of constant abuse and punishment, he wishes he could just stop being a slave.

Doctor Cuddy is still talking and he forces himself to listen to her words.

"I don't consider any of this to be your fault. Look at me when I'm talking to you, Greg."

He reluctantly looks away from the view out of the window and focuses on Doctor Cuddy, listening to her decide what will be done with him.

"Nurse Previn is of the opinion it was a true fugue state, probably triggered by the events of Wednesday evening. Nothing like that should happen to you again, I'll see to that. But you were yourself when she instructed you to go to your office and instead you wandered off, weren't you?"

He hasn't been 'himself' since the day he was taken to the Slave Center. His mental state has fluctuated wildly, he doubts if anyone would have classified him as completely sane at any time yesterday. He doesn't know if he'll ever be completely sane again.

He shrugs and tells her what she's expecting to hear.

"I suppose so."

"According to the security report, you were in the old lecture theater, where you had no business being, and you were making a row on the piano, which you shouldn't have touched. When you were told to stop, you disobeyed and you were insolent to the security guard. The security staff in this hospital can't tolerate that kind of behavior from slaves."

A row? He was playing music, it had been wonderful, and his small audience had enjoyed it too until the security guard had shown up and spoiled it. A familiar feeling of rebellion rises up in him, something he thought had been erased from his life until yesterday.

He grins at her, feeling no humor. "They'll have to, won't they? I passed my tests. I have my license back. You can't stop anyone from making use of the Diagnostics equipment out of hours, but you're not going to sell me or let the security staff kill me or beat me up. Right?"

Doctor Cuddy stares at him, her eyes wide, she looks stunned. She obviously expects him to be a cowering quivering heap, scared of whatever punishment she has decided to impose. Well, fuck that.

"Right?" he says again.

She looks at the pile of restraints on her desk and her thought process is easy to follow. She could have him chained up again. But then what? He can't operate as a doctor if he's chained and she needs him to be a doctor.

She looks back at him and then walks around behind him. Despite himself he flinches as she goes out of his sight. He's fairly sure of his reasoning but it's scary having no control over what happens to him.

"This afternoon the Board meets to vote on funding for the Diagnostics department for the next six months. If the vote fails, of course you'll be sold. We have the option of returning you to the New Jersey center for a refund, less an administrative charge. If that happens, it wouldn't be worth having you disciplined for your insolence. If the vote passes, I'll advise Mr Talbot that we intend to keep you, and discuss the proper measures to take with you."

His stomach clenches at her words. The thought of going back to a Center, he just...he can't. Surely she wouldn't have done this unless she was fairly sure the Board would approve her plan? But if they'd heard about his mental instability yesterday, and his blatant disobedience in the afternoon...they might decide he was much more trouble than he was worth...make her return him, as damaged goods...

"We expect to receive notice that your license has been reinstated today. Report to the clinic and stay there until Nurse Previn says you can go," she looks him over coolly, her face registering disapproval. "You should make sure the groomer tidies you up. Whether we sell you or not, you should look presentable."

It is clearly a dismissal and he stands and hesitantly collects his labcoat and rolltop off her desk, brushing the cool metal of the shackles with his fingers as he picks up the garments. She's not looking at him, instead making notes in her diary. He fights the urge to apologize, to explain, to promise that he will do better. To beg her not to have him returned. Like Danny.

As he leaves the office he feels his future is as uncertain as ever. Even the confirmation that he passed his license tests does nothing to give him hope.

Whatever Doctor Cuddy has given him since she bought him she can take away again. Just like that.

And there's nothing he can do about it.

* * *

He stands outside her office to slip on the clothes that will conceal his collar. They feel like nothing more than fancy dress today, a costume he is putting on so he can play his part. This morning he was naked in a cage, eating food off the floor, now he's donning his 'doctor' costume. He wonders if he will be back in the cage as soon as he's finished his shift. If the Board vote falls through he may be on his way back to the Center by tonight. He decides not to think about that, it's not going to happen, it _can't_ happen.

There's a security station near the stairwell and the guard stops him and insists on escorting him to the clinic personally.

"You are not to walk around the hospital by yourself today boy, you need to go somewhere you ask your supervisor to call a guard for you. If we see you without an escort you'll be back in that cage where you belong. Do you understand, boy?"

"Yes, sir," he answers quietly and falls in, one step behind the security guard, walking on an invisible leash.

At the clinic he's turned over to Nurse Previn and this new rule is repeated to her. She purses her lips and glances at him but nods.

When they are alone she examines his face.

"The bruising is beginning to fade. We're short handed, you are going to have to be on reception today. The paperwork hasn't come through yet so you can't see patients. If anyone asks about your face tell them you slipped and fell."

"Shouldn't that be 'walked into a door'," he says before he has time to censor himself.

She looks at him impatiently.

"Don't be insolent with me, Greg. I will make sure you are treated with respect here, because it will ensure better service for the patients but I won't tolerate you being disrespectful to me, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers quietly. She's been good to him and he doesn't want to cross her.

She nods and for once doesn't correct him on his use of the word 'ma'am'. "Now, go and get ready for the morning, the patients will be coming in soon."

The morning proceeds as usual, he hands out his forms, gives instructions when needed and takes back the completed forms. As he glances at the returning files he realizes that the vast majority of the cases are either common respiratory complaints, mysterious rashes or suspected STDs. Nothing catches his eye as a mysterious, difficult to diagnose, illness. It's boring medicine but at least it's medicine, tomorrow hopefully he will be examining the patients rather than giving them forms. A flutter of nervousness takes root, he knows he can handle the medicine but how will the patients react to him? His collar is sitting heavily around his throat, he knows the rolltop isn't a perfect disguise. He still doesn't have answers to the procedural questions that had been posed at his medical boards.

"What happened to your face?" A patient asks and he answers for what seems like the hundredth time that morning that he'd slipped and fallen. The patient looks skeptical as most of them have done but leaves the desk.

He's filing some forms when a coffee cup is placed on his desk. He looks up, startled to see one of the nurses smiling at him.

"Do you take sugar, Doctor House?"

He doesn't answer but she puts down a couple of packets and a stirrer next to the cup, clearly it is meant for him.

"Hear you had something to do with getting rid of Hog Jenkins. Thanks."

She says it quietly and doesn't wait for an answer, walking off and leaving him with the cup of coffee.

It's only been a couple of hours since he told Doctor Cuddy about Jenkins and apparently he has already been dismissed. He's surprised and also gratified and relieved by the quick action, he suspects that the fact that there were photos taken might have been the tipping point. It's possible now that the photos won't be released, he can only hope so. He takes up the cup of coffee the nurse left and dumps all the sugar into it, sipping it gratefully.

Maybe if word gets around that he was instrumental in getting rid of Doctor Jenkins other people might leave him alone, that's all he wants - to be left alone.

When it comes time to close the clinic up and leave Nurse Previn tells him he isn't to go back to his office, he is to go to the ER with her and make himself useful. The ER has never been his favorite place in a hospital but now it sounds much better than having to go back to that office. He is about to follow her when he realizes that he still has to go to the groomer, Doctor Cuddy instructed him to get himself tidied up. He explains this to Nurse Previn.

"I...the guard said I was to have an escort if I needed to go somewhere."

She looks annoyed again and then nods.

"Come with me to the ER, there's a door that goes straight down to the basement, I assume you can walk down some stairs by yourself?"

He nods and follows her, pausing at the top of the stairs to strip off his rolltop and coat. He goes straight to the groomer's room and runs into another slave he doesn't know also entering. The other slave looks at him and then away.

The groomer looks surprised to see two of them and tells them to both strip off. The other slaves removes his clothes quickly, revealing the appointment time written on his back. Greg quickly takes off his shirts but then hesitates with his hands on his pants. He doesn't want to take them off.

The groomer checks the other slave and then looks at Greg.

"You, what are you doing here?"

"Doctor Cuddy told me to report to you today."

"Well, she should know I only do special appointments on Tuesday and Thursdays." The groomer said with irritation.

Greg shrugs and goes over to one of the chairs, lying down on it.

"Naked!"

"No. You're just shaving my face. You don't need me to strip off." He's been naked many times since he's been a slave, but he's never gotten used to it. Now, with the memory of Wednesday night fresh in his mind, and his time in the cage this morning, he doesn't want to take his pants off. It's not necessary. His shirt should be enough.

The groomer comes and stands by the chair, hands on hips, clearly annoyed. Quickly, before Greg can squirm away, he snaps the manacles on either side of the chair around Greg's wrists. The groomer turns away, going to the other slave and beginning to shave him.

Greg lies quietly for a minute but becomes increasingly uneasy. In the Center he was cuffed to a table many times, for grooming, for...other things. The memories begin to overwhelm him and he starts to struggle, the metal of the cuffs abrading the already bruised and sore flesh around his wrists.

"I...this slave...ss..ss..sorry. Please, please..." he begs, desperate to be released, hating himself for pleading like this. The groomer ignores his pleas, continues shaving the slave on the other chair, and then doing another slave after that.

Greg goes still when a guard comes into the room.

"Do you need any help with that?" he asks, staring at Greg with contempt.

"He came along about half an hour ago. He wasn't on the schedule, but he obviously needs a shave and a tidy-up. But he wouldn't strip off, and he talked back to me. I was going to report him to Mrs Foster when I'm done for the day."

"I can do that," the guard says.

"Wait a minute, then, and I'll get him shaved."

Greg keeps still as the groomer shaves him, silenced by the presence of the guard. The groomer does his normal thorough job, being gentle over the bruised flesh of his face and then standing back and slapping him lightly. "Mrs Foster'll teach you better manners, I don't expect to see behavior like that again."

The guard releases the manacles and Greg gets to his feet, his hands are again cuffed in front of him, his ankles shackled, he's getting desperately tired of being chained. He's hustled down the hallway to Mrs Foster's office, it feels much like being sent to the principal's, or the dean's, office, something he has plenty of experience with.

The guard relates his wrong-doings and Mrs Foster looks at him with the same disapproval he's seen on the face of a lot of authority figures in his life. _Why do you keep screwing up, Greg, they all say. Why can't you do what you're supposed to?_

"Leash him up over there."

She indicates a hook on the wall opposite her desk and the guard produces a leash and clips it onto his collar, the other end going through the hook. He kneels, hands cuffed in front of him, ankles shackled together behind him.

She then proceeds to ignore him, continuing on with her work. He stares at the floor, wondering if she's going to cane him, it seems very likely but he wonders what she's waiting for.

When the phone rings she answers it and has a brief conversation, glancing over at him once.

"I'm sorry, I can't discuss individual slaves with someone from outside the hospital. You probably want to speak to Doctor Lisa Cuddy. I happen to know she's in a meeting right now: I suggest you call again at about four-thirty."

Then she hangs up and goes back to work while he wonders what that was all about. She'd looked him over before telling the caller that she couldn't discuss the slaves. It seemed that the enquiry had been about him, had another hospital found out he was a slave? Maybe Doctor Cuddy had decided not to return him, but to try and sell him on? He shivers, as bad as it is here it is at least a known quantity by this point. The thought of being sold is terrifying to him.

When the phone rings again he flinches in his bonds at the sound, looking back at the floor.

"Doctor Cuddy, I want your authorization to cane Greg."

He jerks his head up, stares at Mrs Foster. Beyond the fear at her words he realizes that this means that Doctor Cuddy must have dictated that he only be caned with her authorization, that explains why he hasn't been caned for anything he's done since Tuesday, despite there being many opportunities to do so. He holds still, eyes locked on Mrs Foster, hoping that Doctor Cuddy denies permission.

Mrs Foster is listening to something Doctor Cuddy is saying, a stony expression on her face, tapping a pen impatiently on the desk. Whatever Doctor Cuddy is saying is not interesting to her.

"Thank you, that's very gratifying. Now about the issue of Greg's discipline ...?"

"He arrived unannounced at the groomers, said that you had said he was to be cleaned up. Refused to comply with instructions and talked back to the groomer. Nathan is a very easy going man, he almost never complains about the slaves - for him to make a formal complaint means that Greg was very disrespectful to him. I'm sure you understand we can't allow that sort of thing. Discipline must be maintained."

She listens to what Doctor Cuddy is saying and then says one word.

"Six."

She listens again, her expression displeased at whatever Doctor Cuddy is saying.

"Quite, I'll see that he's supervised."

"I'll see that he's supervised," she repeats after some more words with Doctor Cuddy. "Six?"

She nods at the answer, seemingly satisfied and Greg's heart sinks, another six strokes on his already sore body. It's not the pain he minds so much but the marking, six red marks across his ass, branding him.

She hangs the phone up with a bang and stands up, going over to a stand in the corner and selecting a heavy cane from it, heavier looking than the one she's used before on him.

She unclips his leash, uncuffs his hands and takes the shackles off his ankles.

"Pants off and bend over the desk, Greg."

He reluctantly takes his pants off, thinking he might as well have done this with the groomer and spared himself this. The door to the office is open, and as he bends over the desk he knows anyone passing by will have a good view of him being caned.

"Six strokes for being disobedient and disrespectful to the groomer today, Greg. Count them."

He hangs his head, he hates having to count the blows, he always has.

The first stroke is like pure fire across his bare flesh, she's put all her weight behind it and it burns, his toes curl in his shoes and he rises up on the balls of his feet, trying to get away, grips the edge of the desk until his knuckles turn white.

"One," he grinds out between gritted teeth.

The next four strokes follow quickly, each with the same force behind it, he's going to be feeling this for a few days, he counts out each stroke for her and after he gulps out 'five' he feels tears starting in his eyes.

There's a pause, with only his gulping sob to break the silence.

"You may think that you are a special case, Greg. That you are better than the other slaves, that you should be treated differently because you are a doctor. You are not. You are a slave, the same as them, you will be treated the same. I _will not_ tolerate disrespect or disobedience in this basement, or outside of it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he manages through his closed throat, waiting for the last stroke.

When it comes it is the worst of the lot, taking his breath away and causing his knees to tremble.

There is silence and then he remembers what she is waiting for.

"Six," he says, hanging his head.

There is still silence and with an effort he chokes out the words.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Stand up."

He straightens up with a hiss and scrubs a hand across his face, wiping away a stray tear.

"Put your pants back on, and your T-shirt."

He pulls them on slowly, the cloth rubbing against his sore ass.

When he 's clothed again she clips a leash back on his collar, scoops up his other clothes and takes him to the dorm.

"Put those away in your locker," she orders and he folds the rolltop and labcoat away. Stored there until tomorrow, when he can be a doctor, he holds onto that thought as she walks him on a leash to the exercise field.

He hasn't been here since Tuesday and he is relieved to see that Mr Johnson isn't present. There's another man who doesn't look happy to see him. Greg wonders if he's getting the blame for Mr Johnson getting in trouble with his superiors.

"I need you to keep this slave busy here till five," Mrs Foster tells the man. "He can run laps, or what you like. Then escort him to the kitchen and hand him over to the kitchen supervisor, that's Sara Graham. I want him to be under your eye personally until you can hand him over to Mrs Graham."

"Got it," the man says.

Greg remembers that Mrs Foster had said something about him being 'supervised' when she was talking to Doctor Cuddy on the phone. It seems he is to be personally handed over from staff member to staff member, presumably until tomorrow morning. He wonders if this is to be his future from now on, not a moment to himself, always under someone's watchful eye.

Mrs Foster takes off his leash and hands it to the man. "Thank you," she says and walks off.

"Right," the man says. "Get your clothes off, get out there and run laps."

Greg hesitates for a moment but there is no point resisting. He takes his clothes off, exposing his marked ass to the other man's gaze. The man whistles his approval at the fresh red lines.

"Good to see someone's been teaching you manners. Go on, run, boy. I'll tell you when you can quit."

He runs off, out to the field. He notices that the atmosphere is more relaxed than when Mr Johnson was there, the other slaves are talking to each other quietly while they run or do other exercises. They pointedly ignore him and he runs by himself.

He runs for a long time, the other slaves have all gone by the time the exercise supervisor calls him in.

"You can help me clean the equipment up," he says and Greg hesitates.

"Take those hurdles and wash them off under the tap, then put them in the shed. Get a hose out and clean the concrete, quickly boy, we haven't got all day."

He does as instructed, dread in his stomach. Once again he's alone with the exercise supervisor. He lingers over 'clean-up' as long as he can but eventually he finishes and goes inside.

The man is standing there.

"Took you long enough boy, get your shower, dry off and then come back to the benches."

When he returns to the benches he quickly reaches for his clothes and is surprised when he's allowed to put them on without interference. The leash is clipped back on his collar and he's walked down the hallway to the canteen. He relaxes slightly, maybe this man isn't 'interested' in the slaves the same way Mr Johnson was.

His leash is handed over to Mrs Graham in the canteen and the two exchange friendly words while he stands there. The serving area is empty of slaves, the meal is still being prepared in the kitchen. Once the man leaves the canteen supervisor points to a spot near the food counter.

"Kneel there, keep quiet and don't move."

He does as instructed, folding his hands behind his back. He keeps his head up and watches the preparations for the meal. He hasn't had an evening meal in the canteen for a few days now, he wonders if he will be allowed to eat the normal meal today, or whether it will be slave chow again.

He kneels there for a long time, he's never been one to sit still, he always likes to be doing something with his hands, but since he's become a slave it's a skill he's had to master. Finally the slaves from his dorm come in for their evening meal, Jon glances at him and then looks away, Kev grins at him as he kneels there, clearly enjoying the sight. They all file through and collect their food and once they are finished Mrs Graham looks at him.

"Okay," she says, nodding at the food.

He rises and helps himself to a tray, his normal table is full so he sits at the other one.

The meal is the usual traybake, with some cheese over the top. It's a mile away from the meal he'd had in the Italian restaurant only a couple of days ago but it's better than slave chow and he eats it quickly, finishing it off with the apple which he eats down to the core. The other slaves chatter around him but he eats in complete silence.

The bench is hard on his abused behind and he's almost relieved when the supervisor calls him out again to go and kneel back near the counter.

He's not released until another couple of dorms have come and gone and then he is walked by Mrs Graham down to the showers. Once he is finished showering he's walked by a guard down to the dorm and to his bunk. The guard stands by until he's in the bunk and then leaves.

Finally by himself Greg pulls the blanket over his head, trying to shut out this world. He just wants to lie here and go to sleep now.

"They say you're going to be a doctor," he hears someone say, Jon he realizes.

"I _am_ a doctor," he says shortly and realizes that it is true again. By now his paperwork should have come through.

"I cleaned that office where you work," Jon says.

Greg realizes that Jon must know what took place in that office on Wednesday night, if he's seen the aftermath. It's the first thing another slave has said to him for days but he doesn't want to talk about it. Not now, not ever.

"Yeah. You're a cleaning slave. That's what you do," he says shortly, hoping the man will take the hint and go away.

"It's where you work, you should be cleaning it," Jon says, his voice angry.

Greg's bunk is suddenly kicked and Greg bets to himself that that was Kev. He doesn't know why they are bothering with him again. He keeps quiet and they go away.

There are the normal sounds of the dorm settling down to sleep and then the heavy door is pulled to with a clang and the lights dim.

It's Friday night he thinks, party night. A few months ago he'd be out on the town, drinking and gambling his wages away. Now he's in a bunk, about to go to sleep at eight o'clock, surrounded by slaves.

His hand creeps up under the blanket and he touches his collar.

Tomorrow he can start gaining his life back, he can start proving he's more than just a slave. He'll make them respect him.

He's not equipment, he's not furniture, he's a doctor.


	17. Chapter 17

**Day 16 - Saturday**

A guard stands over him while he dresses in the morning. He's told to put on his old clothes, not his 'fancy' ones and he drags the smelly and stained clothing on reluctantly. He knows he's supposed to be in the clinic at eight this morning, and he thinks it will be his first shift working as a doctor, although nobody has confirmed it. He knows the Board met yesterday to consider Doctor Cuddy's plan for the diagnostic department but has no idea what their decision was. If they didn't approve the plan, Doctor Cuddy has told him, he'll be sent back to the Center. He thinks about the rows of cages in processing and feels physically sick as the memories sweep over him, he can't go back there.

"Get a move on, boy," the guard barks at him and he quickly slips his T-shirt on and stands ready. The guard is holding a leash and he clips it onto Greg's collar, tugging on it.

He's led along the corridor to the canteen and handed over to the canteen supervisor.

"He's all yours, Ruth - boy's not to clean, and you'd better not let him near any knives - he's a bit clumsy, but he can do anything else you want. Someone will come and collect him at quarter past seven."

The canteen supervisor takes his leash and leads him over to a sink. There's a large container of potatoes next to it.

"Scrub them clean, I don't want to see a piece of dirt left on them. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers and she nods, taking his leash off.

He's left alone to do the potatoes and he works diligently. He's still not sure what all this means. He thinks that if he is to be sold, or returned to the Center that Mrs Foster wouldn't have caned him yesterday, Doctor Cuddy had said they wouldn't bother with it unless they were keeping him, but she hasn't sent him back to his office either.

After the potatoes are finished he's put to cleaning other vegetables and then onto washing some dishes. When its six o'clock the canteen doors are opened and he's directed to kneel by the serving counter while the slaves from his dorm enter and collect their breakfast. When they are all seated the supervisor nods to him.

"Get your breakfast, boy."

There's only one spot left on the benches and it's beside Kev. He goes and sits down, ignoring the discomfort as his sore ass meets the hard wooden bench.

"Hear you're leaving us," Kev says, too quietly to be overheard by the supervisor.

Greg glances at him, wondering what Kev has heard. He won't give him the satisfaction of replying, he keeps eating his breakfast steadily, ignoring the other man.

"I cleared out that office you've been spending time in. Guess you weren't good enough for Doctor Cuddy after all."

Greg forces himself not to react, to keep eating. His thoughts churn, they were clearing his office out?

"They say you're going to be whipped before you're sold, maybe you'll learn, boy."

He shoves the last couple of spoonfuls of food into his mouth and stands up all in the one motion, desperate to get away from Kev's taunts before he loses it and punches the guy out.

As he kneels back in his spot by the counter his head drops in despair. He's going to be sold, and he's going to be whipped. So close to success, he's failed.

He's collected by a guard from the kitchen and taken back to the dorm. He's directed to change into the clothes he wears to the clinic, except for the rolltop and labcoat. He's confused by the order, if he's going to be sold why is he wearing the clinic clothes?

He's taken to the supervisor's office and leashed back up to the wall. Mrs Foster is in, she's on the phone but glances at him when he's led in. He kneels properly, hands behind his back, his head bowed as she continues on with some paperwork.

He hears her footsteps approaching but doesn't look up.

"Greg, have you had time to think about what I told you yesterday?" she asks.

"Yes, ma'am, " he says, thinking it doesn't matter now, nothing matters. He feels a hopeless wave of despair crushing him.

"Look at me while I'm talking to you."

He slowly lifts his head up to look at her.

"Tell me what you remember," she says.

He thinks back to what she was saying while she was caning him.

"I'm a slave," he says, the words hurting him, "disrespect and disobedience will be punished." He swallows hard, thinking of the cane striking him, of what a whipping might feel like, " _I_ will be punished if I'm disrespectful or disobedient. I will not be treated differently because I'm a doctor, ma'am."

He wonders why she's making him say this if they're shipping him out.

"Doctor Cuddy has given me authorization to cane you, when you are in the basement, if you disobey or you're insolent. I don't want to hear of you talking back to people who are responsible for you, Greg."

"No, ma'am," he answers automatically but as he hears her words he feels relieved, it almost sounds like he is staying. "I'm not...not being sold?"

"Who told you that?" she asks sternly.

He almost says 'Kev' but doesn't.

"Doctor Cuddy said...yesterday, that if the Board voted..."

"No," her voice is stern. "It's none of your concern how the decision was made, but I can tell you that the hospital still owns you, and has no plans to sell you - if you behave well and remain useful, of course." She looks him over and then continues, "you should also be aware that you're extremely valuable and we do not want you damaged. If anyone hits you hard enough to bruise, they'll be penalized for doing so - though of course you will still be caned for whatever insolence or disobedience you committed. I intend to warn everyone who works in the basement, and I expect Doctor Cuddy will inform other hospital staff, so they're aware that they must contact either Doctor Cuddy or myself if they want you disciplined."

He stares at her, taking it in, not only is he not being sold, but is to be afforded some degree of protection from abuse. Maybe what happened in his office on Wednesday won't be repeated.

"Thank you, ma'am," he says sincerely, he does appreciate her efforts..

"Good boy," she says, "now come along."

She unclips him from the wall and he rises to his feet and follows her. She escorts him up the stairs and to the door of the clinic, where she hands him over to Nurse Previn with what appears to be a sigh of relief.

* * *

Nurse Previn confirms that he is to be working as a doctor today.

She doesn't give him a speech about how he must behave, what he must do. Instead she just hands him a patient file.

"Exam room one, Doctor House."

He looks at the file and calls the name and a young man gets up and follows him into the exam room.

He follows behind the man and shuts the door behind them, waves his patient to a chair. He stays standing and smiles.

"I'm Doctor House, what seems to be the problem?"

The first patient turns out to have a rhinovirus, otherwise known as the common cold. He does a thorough job of the exam, listens to his lungs, interrogates him on the color and consistency of his sputum and inquires after his general health. The patient seems to want to talk and he listens gravely to the usual complaints of a cold, trouble breathing and sleeping, sore throat and a cough. He suggests some over the counter remedies, and throws in a couple of things his mother always swore by for good measure.

The young man seems pleased by the attention and happily leaves.

"Thanks doc," he says with a little wave as he goes out the door. Greg records the encounter in the patient's file and goes back to the reception desk. Nurse Brenda is there and she looks pointedly at the clock and then gives him another file.

"Emma Wilkins," he calls out loudly and a young woman with a baby comes forward.

In the exam room she settles herself down on a chair and smiles at him.

"Hello, I'm Doctor House," he says, smiling back at her. It feels so good to be able to say that again, he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of it. "Which of you is my patient?"

It turns out they are both sick, as she recounts their symptoms he stops smiling. What she is describing could be a cold, but it could be much worse.

"How old is she?" he asks.

"She had her first birthday last month, on the eighth."

"Is she vaccinated?" he asks, he suspects he knows what the answer will be.

"No, at our church we don't believe in vaccination, so we set up this daycare group that doesn't make parents get their kids vaccinated. We believe our children are healthy enough without getting this kind of artificial poison inside their bodies. I got a leaflet here about it.." she starts looking for it but he cuts her off.

"No."

He feels anger rising. He's heard this lunatic, religion based, reasoning before. People who think praying will keep their children safe from all sorts of infectious diseases. It was people like this moron who kept these diseases alive. Measles! Something the baby should have been protected from, if her mother had an ounce of common sense.

He steps back from her, they'll be highly contagious at this stage. He's had measles but it's an instinctive reaction.

"How many kids are at this daycare group?"

"Fourteen," she replies, her voices trembling a little.

Fourteen! Fourteen possible cases, all spreading the disease wherever they went, family members, and everyone those people had contact with.

"And _none_ of them are vaccinated?"

"Well, I don't know, the whole point is we don't _mak_ _e_ kids get vaccinated."

Which means they're not. Which means this a major outbreak.

"Congratulations," he says, "you have a fine bouncing case of the measles, so does your daughter."

"Measles..." she's staring at him, her eyes wide.

"You were probably vaccinated but it didn't take or your immunity wore off. It happens, not very often and it shouldn't matter, because measles epidemics shouldn't _happen_ any more. Except sometimes when a dozen morons put a herd of susceptible kids together. All the children at your daughter's playgroup have the measles. By this time so does everyone they live with who doesn't have an immunity. How did you get here this morning?"

He hopes she's going to say she drove but of course she took the bus, damn.

"Everyone on the bus could be infected. Do you know what happens to one in five adults who get measles? The complications _start_ with diarrhea, vomiting, laryngitis, bronchitis, and pneumonia. You could also get inner ear infections or eye infections, and end up deaf or with a permanent squint. If your or your daughter's temperature runs high there's a one in two hundred chance either of you could have febrile convulsions - fits caused by high fever. Your daughter should be okay, you might not be. And there's a chance of hepatitis, encephalitis, blindness from neuritis, or heart complications. Plus, one in every hundred thousand measles patients can develop subacute sclerosing panencephalitis, which is a brain disease that causes convulsions, motor abnormalities, mental retardation and death," he brings out the last one to really scare her. "Some of these complications are pretty rare, but they're all possible. And you thought this was _better_ than vaccinating her? Parents are morons. What's the name of your church's day care center?"

Her eyes fill with tears and her lower lip trembles.

"I'm not a moron," the moron says,"I don't even have a _rash_."

"You will have, tomorrow, your daughter's just starting, see?"

He goes closer and points behind the baby's ears, at the distinctive brown mottling. "You might even have a rash by the time you get home. What church do you go to?"

Of course she doesn't tell him, just wants to know why. Idiot! It hasn't even occurred to her that the other kids in the oh-so-healthy daycare will be infected.

"Because measles is a notifiable disease," he answers, "the hospital will have to warn the CDC, we might have a local epidemic and everyone who goes to that daycare center has to be warned."

She's crying properly now, winding herself up into a state.

"Oh stop crying," he says impatiently, "you're in for a nasty few days, but you're probably going to be fine."

"But Sharon - she's …", she blubbers. Sharon must be the spawn's name.

"Children recover from measles a lot faster and easier than adults," he tells her, adding some instructions on staying away from the daycare for a while after the rash clears up.

She's still blubbering. "What about the disease you said, pan..pan,"

"SSPE, occurs once in every hundred thousand cases," he tells her, does she seriously think the kid is going to get it? "Don't worry about it,when your kid's better take her to her family doctor and get her vaccinated."

She keeps crying and he snaps at her, "Stop crying, you get to go home, feel terrible for a few days, nurse your daughter, you've basically got nothing to worry about."

What do free people have to worry about? He used to think he had problems when he was free, he had no idea. A free person gets to _go home_ , gets to be with their family, a free person isn't _used_ by other people whenever they feel like it. Give her a collar around her neck and she'd really have something to cry about.

She stops crying and now her face screws up in anger.

"My kid could _die_ , you bastard!"

It's when she starts to head for the door that he realizes what he's just done - he's got angry at a moronic patient, and said things he shouldn't have. Not an unusual experience for him, _before_ , but things are different now. He quickly gets between her and the door, somehow he has to try and stop her from going out there and complaining about him.

"You can't stop me! I know my rights!" she yells.

"Sure. You need to stay in here while I get a nurse," he tells her, trying to be reassuring.

"No I don't! I'm going home and you've got no right to stop me!"

Actually he does really, seeing as she has a notifiable, highly contagious disease. Well he would if he was still free, now he's a doctor who's a slave, and these issues that had been raised in his medical board exam are now cropping up. What exactly is his level of authority here? The best thing would be if she would stay here and he'll go out and get Nurse Previn to take charge of the situation, she'll know what to do.

He spreads his arms, blocking the door, careful not to touch her.

He tells her she can't leave, she's really infectious, she can't go on the bus. He tells her to sit down and not breathe on the furniture and he'll go fetch a nurse. He realizes he's shaking and she's now looking at him with a question in her eyes, she's picked up on his anxiety.

"Okay, I'll wait in here," she tells him, sinking down onto one of the chairs. He breathes a sigh of relief and smiles shakily in what he hopes is a more reassuring manner and quickly slips out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

* * *

Nurse Previn isn't at the desk. He looks around for her. The waiting room is crammed with patients, there's a young nurse on the reception desk doing his old job. As he stands there more people come in and a patient is about to leave. There's no time to consult anyone, he goes quickly to the clinic doors and shuts them in the face of the patient about to leave, cutting off a young family about to enter. He pushes the latch on the doors, locking them from inside.

He turns around and looks around the room.

"The clinic is closed. This is a quarantine zone, no-one in or out until you are cleared."

His voice comes out shaky, thin and he knows he's still shaking. This is _not_ how he wanted his first day to go. The waiting patients start jumping to their feet, the young nurse on the reception desk is staring at him. Outside the clinic doors he sees a security guard stop and start towards the doors.

The patients are all talking at once, the nurse is saying something, the guard is rattling the door. Into the chaos Nurse Previn comes out of the storage area and looks around. She spies him standing in front of the doors and yells for silence.

The people all fall quiet, although they don't sit back down. Nurse Previn walks up to him calmly.

"Doctor House, perhaps you could explain what is going on?"

* * *

The clinic has procedures in place to deal with such an event. Nurse Previn quickly informs security and the Dean what is going on. She contacts a Doctor Reed from infectious diseases to come and take charge of decontamination procedures. She organizes the waiting room, has the patients wait down one end and the medical staff at the other. Greg goes quietly with the others. He notes that Nurse Previn is angry but it doesn't seem to be directed at him, he'd explained about the young mother and their 'healthy' daycare and she had gone into the exam room to talk to the woman herself.

Doctor Reed arrives with three slaves trailing behind her. The slaves take up a kneeling position in the middle of the floor. Doctor Reed explains that they will clean down the clinic and then go into quarantine until it was confirmed they have immunity. Greg looks at the kneeling slaves, their heads bowed, their hands behind their back and knows that could have easily been him.

Doctor Reed takes a sample of blood from all of the people in the clinic and then looks at the medical staff.

"Which of you actually treated this patient directly?"

He raises his hand and Nurse Previn and the young nurse on reception raise theirs. Doctor Reed asks if they know their immunity status and after the other two explain theirs Greg tells her that he had measles when he was four.

"You're sure it was measles you had?"

"I remember the rash, and I had febrile convulsions," he explains. He smiles slightly, he'd been feverish for a couple of days and the highlight had been vomiting all over his father's dress uniform. "I didn't touch either of our carriers, or any surface they touched. I'm not infectious."

She nods, seeming to take his word for it.

"What department do you normally work in?"

"Diagnostics," he says, wondering if that is actually true, he's still had no official word that the board approved the Diagnostics department proposal.

She glances at the three slaves kneeling on the floor and he realizes she's made the connection, realized that he too is a slave. She's probably thinking she might as well have arranged for him to clean too. She doesn't say anything though, just turns to the waiting patients and explains the quarantine procedures to them.

After that she comes up to Nurse Previn and they arrange for food and drink to be sent in, to keep the patients calm.

"I hear the adult carrier's complaining she was badly treated by us," Doctor Reed says. Greg tenses, he's not sure what will happen to him if a patient complains about him.

"Is she?" Nurse Previn says, not glancing in Greg's direction.

"Whatever you said to her, she probably deserved. I phoned the church that runs this plague-care group - there are ten cases already that the person I spoke to knows about. I've told the CDC we're in for an epidemic. And I hear she took the _bus_ over to us. But the good news is, she's running a temperature of 104 - whatever complaints she's making in a fever, she's not likely to remember about them once she's well."

He relaxes slightly, that's true, hopefully she'll get so sick that she'll forget all about the doctor who first treated her.

When Doctor Reed has gone Nurse Previn calls Greg over to her.

"I hope all your shifts aren't going to be this exciting, Greg," she says dryly. "She was what, your second patient?"

"Yes, Nurse Previn," he says nervously and she smiles thinly.

"Relax Greg, you did the right thing in shutting the clinic down so quickly. Just, maybe a little more _tact_ next time when you're dealing with a stupid patient, okay?"

"Yes, Nurse Previn," he replies, trying to look sincere.

* * *

It's nearly five before the situation is completely resolved, patients and staff allowed to leave, clinic scrubbed clean by the slaves. A security guard shows up to escort him from the clinic. He swallows hard as he goes with him, the guard is as tall as him, broad shouldered and with a steely look in his eye that says Greg had better not cause him any trouble. Greg follows alongside him meekly, nervous. Although Nurse Previn hadn't been angry at him about the clinic situation it doesn't mean that other people won't take a dim view. He's not reassured when he's led into a conference room on the fourth floor. Doctor Cuddy is there, with a dozen security staff.

Once he's inside the room he's directed to stand in the middle of the floor and the security staff all stare at him.

"This is the diagnostics slave, Greg. He'll be working around the hospital, he'll be wearing these clothes so the patients don't realize he's a slave. All of you need to be familiar with what he looks like in these clothes." An older man in a security uniform addresses the others. "Turn around, Greg."

He obediently turns his back on the group. He's tense and uneasy. They would all be colleagues of Edwards, the guard who had … assaulted him. How many of them had seen the photos? He hasn't heard anything more about the photos, he hopes that Doctor Cuddy has managed to stop their circulation but these people might have seen them first. Now they are all here, staring at him.

"Okay Greg, turn around again. Good boy."

The man addresses his audience.

"As you can see he's tall, six foot two, he has very blue eyes," the man pauses, Greg has ducked his head, "put your head up, Greg, they need to able to see your face."

He looks back up at the assembled guards.

"Now walk up and down the room, boy," he's ordered and he complies, moving uneasily under their scrutiny. "Okay, now run up and down a couple of times."

It's strange to be running up and down a conference room, while so many people watch him, he feels like a farm animal being appraised for slaughter.

"Okay, now take off those clothes, boy and put these on."

He's given his cleaning clothes - the jeans and T-shirt he'd been wearing this morning and he strips in front of them all, takes off his nice clothes and puts on the worn clothes, he's been wearing them off and on during the week and they are fairly ripe now, stained and smelly. He averts his eyes from Doctor Cuddy as he changes clothes.

"Okay, now he looks more like a slave as you can see, he'll not be wearing these very often as I understand it, you need to be able to recognize him with his other clothes on as well. Walk up and down again, boy."

He walks and runs again to the man's orders and then finally he's told to kneel at the end of the room.

The security staff are told that he will be allowed to go about medical business in the hospital unescorted. He is relieved, the close escort of the last day has been stifling.

"Any disciplinary proceedings have to go through Doctor Cuddy - or Mrs Foster if the slave's in the basement - and they'll be formal : he'll be caned or whipped. If you see any other hospital staff disciplining the slave, even if in your judgment the slave deserves it, you need to stop them," the man explains to the others.

Greg listens intently, although they aren't talking to him, just about him. It's a relief to know that random hospital staff won't be allowed to 'discipline' him, though he guesses that Mr Johnson was never supposed to have kicked him in the face anyway. He doesn't think Doctor Cuddy is likely to have him caned or whipped for minor offenses, she never did anything about the piano playing incident.

"I want to emphasize how valuable Greg is, he's an extremely costly item of hospital equipment," he looks up as he hears Doctor Cuddy talking, its still strange to hear himself being talked about in this way, as if he was equivalent to the MRI machine or something. "While he may need discipline he mustn't be damaged. The hospital administration will fire anyone who commits an act of vandalism on Greg, and we may consider further action to recoup our costs if any permanent damage is done, reducing his value. Any questions?"

The guards asks what they are supposed to do if they find him where they don't think he should be and she outlines the procedures for dealing with him. She emphasizes again that he isn't to be 'disciplined' or abused by anyone outside of formal disciplinary procedures and assures them that he will be disciplined if he insolent or disobedient. He thinks she is talking to him as much as the guards at that point, sending him a clear message.

The guards run out of questions and the guy in charge talks to Doctor Cuddy.

"Thanks Doctor Cuddy, I'll bring up the other security staff over the next couple of days, make sure they're all familiar with Greg."

As they all troop out some of them cast curious glances at Greg, he guesses he must be something of a novelty for them, a slave who they have to pretend is a human being sometimes.

Once the room is empty Doctor Cuddy looks at him, where he is still kneeling at the end of the room, and tells him to 'come'.

He follows her into her office. He's relieved that they seem to be making plans for him to stay, that they are still talking about him as the 'diagnostics slave' but he doesn't know why all the furniture has been moved out of his office, where is he supposed to work?

"You'll sleep here from now on," Doctor Cuddy tells him "The conference room will be shared between the Diagnostics and Oncology departments. You must eat breakfast in the slave canteen each morning by eight, and you must eat your evening meal there between six and nine. You should log eight hours exercise a week in the exercise field. When you're in the basement, or if you fail to show up for meals or do exercise, Mrs Foster has my authorization to cane you if you're insolent or disobedient. The men's washroom down the hall has a shower, which you have permission to use. Mrs Foster tells me that slave laundry is done on Sundays, and she will arrange to have the slave who cleans the Diagnostics office collect your used clothing and bedding for laundry. You need to be clean and well-presented at all times. If anything affects that, let Mrs Foster know."

He stares at her, taking it all in, he's sleeping here? He's to use this office? He doesn't have to sleep in the dorm in the basement, he doesn't have to shower there, he only has to go there for meals and exercise. She waiting for a response so he murmurs, 'yes, ma'am.'

"The security staff are all aware of your status, and over the next few days Mr Talbot has arranged for all of them to inspect you. None of them will be able to pretend ignorance. If anything like Wednesday's incident happens again, you're to report it to me immediately."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, looking around the office, he can see a bunk now, in the corner behind the desk, behind _his_ desk.

Doctor Cuddy points to a small bag on the desk. He can see it has some sort of toiletries in it. "You should ask Mrs Foster for fresh supplies as you use these." She taps a pile of paper that is sitting on the desk. " "You have all day tomorrow to review all of these and let me know your recommendations for the Diagnostics fellowship. I want you at my office by seven on Monday with notes on each resume you think is a viable candidate."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, he's unable to say anything else at the moment, he looks around the office, feeling a huge weight lifting off his shoulders, this is so much more than he could have hoped. He doesn't have to go back to that second floor office, he has protection from abuse. People have applied to work with him, _for_ him. He starts to feel almost _happy_ , something he hasn't felt in a long time and never expected to feel here.

"You understand that here is where you'll be living and sleeping from now on, except for your work and your meals - and exercise? You have to spend at least one hour on the balcony every day."

"Yes, ma'am," he says again. The balcony, he hadn't thought about that, he can go outside, whenever he wants, without having to strip off and run around in the mud. Just sit there in the sun.

He looks up at her, he wants to say something more than 'yes,ma'am' to express his appreciation for all she is doing for him.

"Th.. _I_ want you to know...Doctor Cuddy, I'm...", he slips down to his knees, to show her how sincere he is, how thankful. He stares back up at her, "I'm very grateful. I'm glad you bought me. Thank you, I won't let you down."

She smiles down at him, she looks tired but pleased, satisfied with what she has done.

"Good, I'll see you on Monday," is all she says and then she leaves, to go home.

* * *

He stays on his knees for a few seconds after she's left, taking it all in. Then he goes over to the bag on the desk and empties it out, little bottles of shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, some soap, even his toothbrush from the basement - with the tag 'Greg' on it. His things. He goes over to the bunk in the corner and sits on it, it has the same sheet, blanket and pillow as the one in the dorm in the basement but right now it feels like a bed in a five star hotel to him. No-one will drag him off this bed and stuff him in a cage in the middle of the night.

He flips through the pile of resumes, startled to see one from Doctor Bergeron , the doctor in the clinic whose diagnosis he'd disputed and who'd challenged him again in his presentation. There's a good pile of resumes surprisingly and he sets them aside to deal with later.

It's getting late and it's been a long day so he decides to go down to the slave canteen and get his dinner. It's his normal time, he knows his ex-dorm mates will all be there. He grins to himself, this should be fun.

On the way he stops in the bathroom closest to his office. As he opens the door he sees Jon, cleaning the bathroom. He watches while the slave ducks his head and continues wiping down the shower. He sees the dirty clothes, the collar, the cowed stance of the man and wonders if that was what he looked like when he was cleaning bathrooms. When Jon turns around he's obviously trying to make himself small, invisible so he can slip out. He hasn't realized that the intruder is Greg.

Jon looks up at him, a strange expression on his face. He doesn't say anything and Greg lifts his chin, he's not like this slave, he's not like any of them. He goes to use a stall, to stay invisible, but then changes his mind, he'll urinate like a man this time.

He goes to the urinal, which Jon has no doubt just finished cleaning, and pisses freely. As he's zipping himself up Jon finally says something.

"You'll get into trouble," he says, in his typically mild voice.

Greg looks at him.

"Probably, but I'm pretty used to that."

He leaves Jon standing there, staring after him and goes down to his dinner.

* * *

He makes sure he sits opposite Kev this time.

"What happened? Didn't the new place want you then? Going back to the Center are you?" the slave taunts him quietly. "Or didn't Doctor Cuddy want to let her fuck toy go?"

Greg calmly finishes his bowl of slop off, puts his spoon in the bowl and stares at Kev.

"Doctor Cuddy gave me her office," he says, "because I'm just _that_ good." He stands up, picking up his bowl and gets in a parting shot, "don't wait up for me tonight, I have my own place now."

As he dumps his bowl in with the dirty dishes he risks a glance back and sees Kev, Jon, Sam and the rest all staring at him, their mouths hanging open. He quirks a little smile at them and quickly slips out of the canteen.

Back in his office he kneels down and sorts the resumes into piles, 'no way in hell', 'if we're desperate' and 'worth an interview'. He'll make notes on them tomorrow, see if he can determine from the dry words on the paper who has the creative spark needed to diagnose mysterious illnesses.

It's getting late so he goes along the hallway and has a shower, remembering just in time not to walk naked back to his office. He goes out onto the balcony when he returns, looking out over the lights of the city, at the lights of the cars as they make their way home, maybe one day if he works hard, if he brings enough value to the hospital, maybe one day he might be one of those people out there again.

He goes back inside, glances at the clock, it's eight o'clock, and strips for bed. He flicks off the office lights and goes to his bunk.

He lies there for a minute, in the dark. The memories start to creep back in, and he shivers. He gets back up and puts on the lamp over the desk, casting a dim glow over the room.

When he gets back in bed this time he can sleep.

He dreams that he is free.

**The End**


End file.
